Sherlock Holmes and the Quest to Become Head Boy
by JJJJ12
Summary: Harry Potter AU: Sherlock begins his sixth year at Hogwarts, intent on matching every one of Mycroft's past accomplishments, namely eventually becoming Head Boy. His quest to be the number one choice for the position has a few challenges along the way. Add in a new-found crush on Molly, and Sherlock is in for a fun year. AKA the one where Sherlock takes five different potions.
1. Prologue

Sherlock Holmes was quite pleased to return to Hogwarts after a lengthy summer holiday. Although, that wasn't to say he didn't have a lovely break. His parents had wasted no expense, feeding into his every whim to indulge in adventure. He found his days and weeks filled with interesting books of history and spells, potion making, a three-week holiday through Japan and China to admire dragons, his occasional muggle mystery novel, and of course, responding to letters from John and Molly with as few words as necessary.

But his poor, dear school mates. John, his half-blood best mate, was forced to remain at home with his sister and aging grandmum for most of the summer, his only entertainment surely being his broom and letter correspondence with his girlfriend, Mary.

Sherlock presumed that Molly had it even worse. His quiet, studious friend was a muggle-born, and was likely forced to partake in their dreadful activities: football, watching a technology called the telly, and cooking by hand to name a few.

Of course, he would too have preferred being forced to play muggle football over the countless suppers he shared with his older brother, Mycroft. Now at twenty-five, his older brother was slowly climbing the ranks at the Ministry, and claimed to rarely have time for his family. But, with Sherlock enjoying his last true summer break from school, Mycroft had been acquiesced into dropping by his childhood home every Sunday over the period.

While his parents were delighted to share a meal with both of their precious sons, Sherlock found the dinners to be exercises in patience and politics. Because every word of Mycroft's was shrouded in a self-important smugness that set every nerve of Sherlock's on edge.

Yet, between his endless babbling about ministry affairs, his upcoming promotion, and his former classmates who were nowhere near his level of success, Mycroft's final conversation with the family was the only thing on Sherlock's mind, this breezy September morning.

 _Somehow, between another proud smirk, Mycroft managed to shove a piece of treacle tart between his lips. He swallowed the pudding with a groan of delight, before focusing his attention on Sherlock._

" _Now, little brother, this is quite the important year. I hope you have your priorities in line," Mycroft began, smiling as their parents nodded along in vigorous agreement._

" _I hope you've decided on your N.E.W.T.s, dear. The choices you make now will help you determine your future career," His mother added, casually filling Sherlock's plate with another helping of treacle tart. She was always nagging him to eat more._

 _He rolled his eyes and immediately rattled off his choices, used to getting the same sort of motherly attention from John, Molly, and Mary on a daily basis._

" _Charms, Defense Against the Dark Arts, Herbology, Transfiguration, Arithmancy, Ancient Runes, and Potions. Satisfied?" He quipped, eating a forkful of the dessert. He groaned. He did have to admit that his mum was a wonderful cook. Even better than the Hogwarts house elves._

 _His father raised an eyebrow. "Really, now? Seven? We don't want you pushing yourself too hard. To join the ministry, like your brother, you only need—"_

 _Sherlock scowled and ate another forkful. "Mycroft got six, so I shall get seven. And I have absolutely no interest in following his path. I've decided I want to be an Auror."_

 _Mycroft just rolled his eyes and helped himself to more tart. "Well, as charming as that sentiment is, I actually was not referring to your N.E.W.T.s as your first priority."_

 _That got everyone's attention._

" _Oh?" Sherlock questioned, taking a hefty sip of pumpkin juice, "Then what, dearest brother, is?"_

" _I presume you are a prefect again this year."_

 _Sherlock snorted. "Yes. Although, Flitwick did threaten to take away my badge if I didn't stop sneaking into the potions classroom after hours. And experimenting on frogs. He was not a fan of that after I accidently killed Phillip Anderson's pet."_

 _Mycroft made a noise of agreement. "I see. Well, then surely you know what this year determines. Your behavior will decide if you will be named Head Boy next year."_

 _Sherlock froze, his goblet in front of his lips, considering his brother's words. Head Boy? Of course, he had considered the position before. Mycroft had held the role during his seventh year, and this year, Sherlock's casual mate Greg Lestrade had the badge._

 _He finally sipped his drink, his eyes locked on Mycroft. "My behavior?"_

 _His brother scoffed. "Only one boy is picked from all the seventh-year students, and I highly doubt you're the only male prefect with stellar grades. If you want the position, you're going to need to be on your best behavior. Make a good impression."_

 _Mycroft sipped his pumpkin juice and smiled, "You aren't exactly likable, dearest Sherlock."_

 _That had him scowling. Sherlock continued his glaring. "Please. I'll be picked. I'm clearly the best choice."_

 _The git had the nerve to smirk. "Perhaps. Perhaps not. And even if that were true, many things can change over the course of a school year."_

 _And before Sherlock could give Mycroft a nasty retort, his father brought up some old Death Eater being tried by the Ministry, and Mycroft was back to boasting about his career._

He scowled and leaned his head back against the soft cushion of the train compartment, enjoying his last few moments of silence. While he did enjoy the company of his friends, he found much comfort in reading a history book with his owl, Redbeard, perched on his shoulder.

But he couldn't help thinking… Was Mycroft right? Should he be concerned about the eventual decision on Head Boy? Sherlock had been facing significant scrutiny for his antics the past few years, and was himself surprised when he received his Prefect badge by post. He figured that McGonagall and Flitwick liked him much against their own better judgement, and he had no qualms in exploiting that.

But Sherlock knew one thing. He would not be beat. If Mycroft had worn the Head Boy badge during his seventh year, then so too would Sherlock.

He would make sure of it.

And just as he prepared to shut his eyes, enjoying the slight pressure of Redbeard's body on his shoulder, the carriage door slid open. Endless chatter filtered in.

"Then Harriet got in trouble for bringing that bloke from Slytherin, Jeremy Hallstatt, over. I gave him a black eye when he put a hand on her!" John announced, his chest puffed out in his pride of his basic male instincts.

From behind him, his girlfriend Mary rolled her eyes. "John, as if I believe you punched Jeremy. He's got four inches on you."

He scowled. "Alright, fine. I didn't give him a shiner. But I certainly let him know my feelings."

Sherlock looked over at his friends, desperately trying to hold back a small smile. He hadn't seen them in months, and even he had to admit that he was delighted to get back into the rhythm of things.

When he first started at Hogwarts, he was by no means a social child. He grew up in the shadows of perfect Mycroft, desperately trying to make a name for himself. Eleven-year old Sherlock had been convinced that the only way to success was to excel past everyone beside him. And, as competition goes, there was room for only one on top.

Suffice to say, he had made it into almost November before he really made a friend. He had been placed in Ravenclaw, a natural house for his studious, wise, and knowledge-hungry person, and had kept to himself. But on Halloween, and an incident with two ghosts, a naughty painting, a rogue frog from the choir, and Filch's cat Mrs. Norris, Sherlock had wound up in detention.

And when he entered the cold dungeon, prepared to sit through whatever Professor Slughorn had in mind, he was greeted by a friendly, short Gryffindor named John Watson. Upon discovering that Watson had been punished for attempting to sneak into a forbidden corridor, Sherlock knew he had found his friend.

He was quite satisfied with just one friend. That was all he really needed. One friend to eat with, confide in, complain to, and occasionally go on amateur cases in the castle. However, by December of his first year, Sherlock realized that while his Gryffindor mate would be suitable outside of lessons, he would need a Ravenclaw friend—someone he could depend on in the classroom.

That was perhaps Sherlock's first quest at the school. He carefully considered each of the twenty-five Ravenclaw first-years, eventually settling on Molly Hooper as his selected friend. She was quite nice, incredibly intelligent, and spent most of her free time with her nose buried in a book, huddled away in a corner of the library.

Over the course of the subsequent four and a half years, Sherlock grew to genuinely enjoy Molly's company and friendship. She had quite a morbid sense of humor, which he deeply enjoyed, and although she occasionally stuttered in his presence, he knew no one was perfect.

And sometime within their completed five years, Mary Morstan, another Gryffindor, had come along, switching their trio to a foursome. The again, considering how frequently Sherlock walked in on Mary and John snogging, it was still pretty much a trio.

Mary and John sat down, their jean-clad legs rubbing against each other, their fingers intertwined in an intense hand-hold. She leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to his lips, causing Sherlock to let out a disgusted groan. Before Mary could even smack his head, Molly strolled in.

Sherlock took one look at her and froze. She appeared… Different. She was already dressed in her robes with her prefect badge on her chest. That was nothing new. She always changed immediately when she got on the train.

She was holding her fat, ginger tabby to her chest. That was nothing new. Toby always accompanied her.

Sherlock looked her up and down. She just looked… Mature. Her normally untamed waves were perfectly straight, half clipped to her head, leaving wisps to frame her face. Her once constricted eyes were no longer hindered by hideous glasses, allowing the world to see her brown orbs.

But most of all, she held her head up high, her shoulders straight back, a positive energy flowing off her person in a way that Sherlock had never encountered from Molly Hooper. In fact, when Mary looked at her, the clever Gryffindor immediately noticed the same thing.

"Oh Merlin," Mary practically moaned out, "It happened, didn't it?"

Molly blushed and sat beside Sherlock, holding Toby to her chest. "What are you referring to?" She asked rather shyly, nibbling on her bottom lip.

Sherlock narrowed his eyes, looking between the two girls, missing some key pieces of information in their female talk. He glanced over at John, who instead of trying to deceiver the language, was already digging into a container of Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans.

Mary groaned and leaned across the open space of the train compart, scooting forward so her knees touched Molly's. "I'm dying of anticipation. Your last letter was coy!"

Molly flushed a darker shade of red, intensifying Sherlock's attention further. He continued to watch the girls, although pretending to focus most of his attention on a new ancient runes book that his father had gifted him with.

"Well, he and I…" Molly giggled and continued to rub down Toby, "We snogged a ton. Then we… You know…"

Mary squealed and clapped excitedly. "You shagged him?!"

Even that caught John's attention. He practically choked on the bean, to which Mary had to forcibly hit his back. Sherlock, meanwhile, had no pretenses with his book anymore. His attention was entirely devoted to the girls.

"Jeez, Mary, is this a conversation for all of us?" John asked, back to digging into the candy as if he hadn't nearly choked.

Mary narrowed her eyes at her boyfriend. "Of course, it bloody is! She's our friend. You don't think I ran to tell her after we shagged for the first time? You don't think I don't know that you and Sherlock stayed up all night discussing it?"

John turned a shade of pink. "I just mean—"

Molly groaned and bit her lip. "We didn't shag, Mary."

Mary pouted. "Then what did you mean by 'you know'?"

Sherlock continued to stare at Molly, his eyes narrowing. The compartment had gotten entirely too hot, and for some reason, he couldn't get his legs to stay still. He pulled at the collar of his shirt, feeling far too uncomfortable for his liking.

John snorted at his girlfriend's comment. "You know, Mary." He proceeded to make a lewd motion with his hand, suggesting that Molly may or may not have pleasured a man with her mouth. At his movements, Molly turned positively bright red.

"Yes." She squeaked out, "That."

Mary smirked. "How was it? Did you like it? How big was he?"

John groaned, "Merlin's beard, Mary! Do you really think Sherlock and I want to hear about size of some bloke's cock?"

Sherlock blinked, finally processing the information. Molly had engaged in oral sex with a man. For some reason (one which would require scientific research once at Hogwarts), his chest felt tight and his hands had begun to shake.

"No. Please share." Sherlock announced, surprised by his own words.

Molly looked to her side, meeting his blue gaze. She swallowed, seemingly remembering that he was beside her. She gave him a shaky nod.

"Right, well… I didn't think he was very big. But it was the first one I had ever seen so… What do I know?"

Mary proceeded to hold out her hands, trying to give Molly some frame of reference, to which John immediately scolded her. Mary pouted.

"Fine. Did he reciprocate?" She wagged her eyebrows.

Molly swallowed and shook her head. "No. I mean. He felt up my chest. But… He said he wouldn't do that. He said it was gross."

"That git!" Mary screeched, turning to look at John, "You believe that? You should write that stupid muggle boy," She fumed and turned back to Molly, "A real man can use his tongue."

She smirked and winked at John. "Watson surely has had practice."

Sherlock shut his eyes and leaned his head against the seat, desperately trying to get his heart rate down. He was concerned with what he would say if he opened his mouth at this moment.

"It's alright," Molly forced out, her eyes locked on Toby's belly, "I won't see Connor again so I don't think it matters."

Mary pouted. "Well, I'm certainly happy you got your first kiss then. And your first sexual experience in one run! You're a talented girl, Miss Hooper."

Molly giggled and stood up. "Do you want to say hello to Jessica and Maggie? We were going to discuss the planning for the Yule Ball."

"Oh, please! You'd think since they started holding one every year that the organization would get better! Last year was awful," Mary moaned, pressing a soft kiss to John's lips before rising to her feet.

"I know. But, with a student run club to help organize it, I think it'll be much better. We wanted to ask Professor McGonagall about—"

The chatters of the two girls disappeared out of the compartment, leaving John and Sherlock in silence. John was munching on jelly beans, watching his best mate intently. Sherlock, however, had abandoned his book, and was busy staring at the moving English landscape.

"You're being awfully quiet," John began, tossing another jelly bean in his mouth, "How was your summer?"

"Enough. You clearly have a question and you think you're clever by delaying it with small talk," Sherlock quipped.

John couldn't help but smirk. "Someone has a guilty conscience, I'd say." He paused to cringe at the vomit flavored bean he had eaten before focusing again on Sherlock, "Did you know Molly met a muggle bloke? She wrote you, didn't she?"

Sherlock continued to stare out the window. "Her letters only recounted mundane details of her muggle life, as well as the fascinating books she read," He shifted and shut his eyes, "Not that I care that she was seeing a muggle bloke."

John smirked. "I don't know. You seemed a bit perturbed by her summer fling."

He opened his eyes, glaring at his best mate. "You're mistaken, John. I can be disgusted by the conversation of Molly and your girlfriend without there being some form of ulterior sentiment attached."

"Sure. You _can_ be. But that's not why you were annoyed."

Sherlock narrowed his eyes. "I don't like Molly as anything more than a friend. Am I surprised by the rendezvous with a muggle? Yes. I was under the impression that she was infatuated with me. If that is no longer the case, then good riddance."

John rolled his eyes, ready to respond, when Greg Lestrade strolled in, fresh in his Gryffindor Quidditch robe and Head Boy badge. He grinned at the other two boys.

"Well, I hope you lot had a good summer!" He turned to John, his eyes intense, "We have a heck of a season ahead of us. I'm not going out with another loss to Slytherin on my record."

John nodded eagerly. "I'm ready. But we still need a new Keeper."

Sherlock tried to tune out the conversation. Greg and John devoted every bit of their extra time to Quidditch—both boys were team captain for the year. Greg was a Beater, John was a Chaser, and Mary was the best Seeker Hogwarts had seen since Harry Potter.

And while Sherlock was an excellent flyer, and each year found himself being recruited by someone on his house's idiotic team, he simply had no interest in the sport.

He eyed Greg's badge and sighed. He had other things to focus on. He had footsteps to follow in. To surpass. To bury under his own.

Eventually, with John and Greg's Quidditch conversation in the background, Sherlock drifted off to sleep, the thought of Molly's blushing face on his mind.

-o-o-

By the time Sherlock had settled into the Great Hall for their feast, his mind was all over the place. Molly was sitting beside him, discussing her silly muggle holidays to Barcelona and New York, excited about the foods she had tried and the places she had visited. Sherlock could hardly understand how seeing a tall building or an unfinished church would be considered fun, especially since he had gone on dragon safaris in the Far East for his own holiday.

But, he found her endless chatter calming, and tried to focus on her smiling face and the food in front of him. Molly smiled and ate another spoonful of peas.

"I'm so excited for this year. I know our N.E.W.T. level classes are going to require so much studying, but I'm ready for the challenge!" She grinned and sipped her pumpkin juice, "I hope you decided to keep Ancient Runes on your schedule."

Sherlock nodded and sipped his own juice. "You know I enjoy a good puzzle. I did, however, consider dropping herbology, but ultimately decided to continue."

"For John?" Molly asked, a giggle on her words.

He gave her a curt nod. "Once Quidditch starts up, our time together will be even more limited."

Molly frowned and nodded. "I know. Speaking of Quidditch, did you hear about Jim Moriarty?"

At the name, Sherlock scowled and pushed a piece of chicken into his mouth. When did Sherlock not hear about James Moriarty? The Slytherin git was perhaps his biggest adversary. He was cunning, clever, and a schmoozer, posing him as a favorite of the professors and an excellent student.

In fact, when it came down to considering Sherlock's biggest rival for the role of Head Boy the following year, it would likely be Moriarty.

With that thought, he scowled and looked to Molly. "No. What about Moriarty?"

"Well, I overheard some of the Slytherins, and apparently Jim is expected to become the team's Seeker since Allison graduated," Molly responded, looking towards the Slytherin table, "Rumor has it that Jim spent all summer working on his skills to beat out some third year for the position."

Sherlock tensed and sipped his pumpkin juice, considering the information. "Moriarty is to join the Quidditch team? As if he has an athletic bone in his body."

Molly shrugged and pushed her plate away, satisfied with her fill of food. "Well, maybe he just wants to get more involved."

 _Become more involved? More like be a shining student athlete and swoop in to claim my badge._

Sherlock scowled and pushed his own plate away. "Quidditch? Perhaps it's time I take up Anderson's offer."

Molly's mouth dropped open. "You? Play Quidditch? I thought you thought—"

"Yes," he jumped in, "I still believe Quidditch is a waste a time when there are so many remarkable books to read and spells to learn. But, I do see the merits in exercise and competition."

Molly blinked. "So, you're going to play Quidditch this year? What position?"

Sherlock smirked and sipped his pumpkin juice. "Seeker."

She coughed on her own mouthful of juice. "You? Seeker? Sherlock, you'd have to beat Moriarty and Mary!"

He shrugged. "Easy. I'm quick and there's no one better at finding things than me."

Molly swallowed and nodded. "Right. Well. I'll make sure to go to the matches then. I'll make you a sign!"

Sherlock was embarrassed to discover that the thought of Molly holding a sign for him was more invigorating than defeating Moriarty. It was yet another detail of the day that he'd have to evaluate, deep within his mind palace, later that evening.

And so, pudding was served, and Molly was back to her mindless chattering. Sherlock had a lot to think about.

 _Why didn't I think about this before? Mycroft didn't play Quidditch. Just by doing it, I've bested him._

He smirked and ate a spoonful of fondant, before another thought crossed his head.

 _Bugger. I need a broom._

 **To be continued…**


	2. Felix Felicis

Sherlock sat in his bed, his nose buried deep in _Quidditch Through the Ages_. After their welcome feast ended, he had slipped away to the library, immediately checking out the book. While of course he knew the rules and gameplay of the sport, he was eager to give his brain a refresher.

And from the moment he decided how he would best James Moriarty (and one up Mycroft in the process), he hadn't stopped his preparation. Within the three hours since his decision, he had sent Redbeard home to his parents requesting money for a broom, read one-third of _Quidditch Through the Ages_ , and spoken to Phillip Anderson.

Suffice to say, the boy was delighted. So much so that he hadn't shut his mouth since Sherlock's declaration.

"This is mad!" Phillip declared, slipping a sleep shirt over his head, "Just brilliant. I was so worried about our chances! Gryffindor has such a good team this year, even if they still need a Keeper. And Slytherin only gets better every year, especially with what I've been hearing about Moriarty."

Phillip jumped on his bed and grinned over at Sherlock, who had not looked up from his book. "Hufflepuff shouldn't be an issue. Tom Ackerman is their best player and even he's only average."

Sherlock rolled his eyes and flipped a page, wondering if Anderson would ever stop his yapping. While his house had twelve boys in his year, somehow, he ended up in a bedroom with only Anderson. Based on the dimensions, and the other rooms housing five boys, he was suspicious of their room being a last-minute addition to the castle.

And of all the boys to be forced to bunk with, Sherlock had the misfortune of being paired with Phillip, a neurotic, talkative bloke with a fixation (borderline obsession) with another sixth year in Gryffindor, Sally Donovan. Although, Sherlock should be thankful that Phillip was even talking to him. He had been concerned coming back to school that the boy would be make his life a living hell after Sherlock accidentally killed his pet frog in an experiment gone wrong during the previous year.

However, their relationship was the same it had always been. Anderson was desperate to be Sherlock's friend, and Sherlock passively accepted the attention if it meant he could conduct experiments in their sleeping quarters.

Finally, as Anderson slipped under his sheets, Sherlock shut his book and looked over at the boy.

"Practice will need to work around my evening sessions with the orchestra. Flitwick has agreed to make me head violinist, and I will not lose that creative freedom to spend any additional time with you." Sherlock announced, setting his book on his nightstand.

Anderson nodded vigorously. "Of course. Anything to keep you on the pitch, Sherlock!"

"I want to wear number one," he added, a smirk growing on his lips.

At his words, Anderson's excited smile faltered. "Oh, well, I've been wearing number once since my second—"

Sherlock cleared his throat and turned onto his side, nuzzling his head into the pillow. "It's a deal breaker."

Anderson swallowed. "Right. Okay. You can have number one."

Sherlock muttered a spell, watching as the lights disappeared. He smirked and shut his eyes, happy with his return to Hogwarts.

He would upstage Mycroft on the Quidditch pitch, given that his older brother had never played.

He would defeat Moriarty, thereby confirming his superiority in the eyes of students and the professors alike.

 _Don't forget Molly. When are you going to consider her conversation with Mary on the train?_

He scowled and shoved his face into the pillow.

 _Not tonight. Not ever._

-o-o-

John nearly choked on his mouthful of egg.

"You're joining the Ravenclaw Quidditch team?!" He gasped out, holding onto the edge of the table as Mary hit at his back. Molly, who sat next to Sherlock on the opposite bench, couldn't help but giggle at the couple's antics.

Sherlock rolled his eyes and took a bite of toast. "Yes. Why is this such a big deal?"

John stared at Sherlock, mouth agape. "You're bloody joking, right? Of course, this is a big deal! Every year, you tell me how much of a waste of time the sport is, and now, you're playing?"

He shrugged. "It's not a surprise. Anderson, Stamford, and Specter have been pestering me to play for years, given my grace on a broom."

Mary smirked and leaned forward, sizing her friend up. "Are you sure this has nothing to do with a one Jim Moriarty joining the Slytherin team as their new Seeker?"

Sherlock scowled and took another annoyed bite of toast. "I could care less how Moriarty spends his time. I'm more surprised that he has any time for extracurriculars given how much time he spends kissing the arses of the entire staff."

"I see. You don't care. In that case, what position will you be gracing the pitch as?" Mary asked, her blue eyes gleaming mischievously.

Sherlock narrowed his own blue orbs, his gaze locked on Mary's. "Seeker," he looked over to John, before back to Mary, "So, I am sorry to inform you two that you will in fact not be defeating Ravenclaw this year."

Mary just laughed. "Oh, Sherlock…" She grabbed his hand from across the table and tried not to laugh as he jerked it away, "There's no way you're beating me to the Snitch."

John nodded energetically. "She's killer, Sherlock. You have no chance."

Sherlock opened his mouth to reply but was cut off by Molly's soft voice.

"While Mary is an excellent Quidditch player, and one of the best seekers here, I wouldn't count Sherlock out. We know he's excellent at solving mysteries and locating lost items. And don't forget his attention to detail…" Molly sipped her tea and continued, "He might just surprise you all."

Sherlock stared at her, surprised by her kind words. When Mary began to respond, he was still trying to figure out why his mouth had gone dry and he was unable to form a coherent thought.

"I'll prove my skill on the pitch. And anyways, this wasn't what the conversation was about. It was Sherlock joining the Quidditch team in some childish competition with Moriarty!" Mary retorted, looking over to John for some support.

John again nodded energetically, looking like quite the whipped boyfriend. "Mary's right, mate. Don't do this just because that git is. There are other—"

His words faltered as two smug six-year boys, clad in their green and black robes, approached their table. Sherlock narrowed his eyes and met the gaze of the one and only James Moriarty. And, per usual, the boy was unable to roam anywhere in the castle without the dimwitted Sebastian Moran attached to his hip.

Moriarty smirked at Sherlock before looking at the faces surrounding his rival. He gave Mary and John just a glance before landing his attention on Molly. The Ravenclaw girl, however, got a soft smile.

"Good morning, Molly. You're looking quite lovely," Moriarty began, a charming grin across his lips, "I'm looking forward to our rounds together."

Molly swallowed the food in her mouth and nodded, a blush creeping across her cheeks. Sherlock narrowed his eyes and looked between the two. At the feeling of crumbs hitting his legs, he looked down at his hands, surprised by the crumbled piece of toast he was holding.

After a few moments of ogling Molly with a pleasant grin, Moriarty redirected his attention to Sherlock.

"So, rumor has it that you've joined the Ravenclaw team, Holmes. Tell me, you really have the bollocks to play me on the pitch?" Moriarty teased.

Sherlock glared. "No. I have the bollocks to beat you on the pitch. Are you looking forward to your defeat?"

Moriarty smirked. "I'm going to take a lot of things from you this year, Sherlock. The snitch, top student, the Head Boy badge…" His words drifted off, but Sherlock didn't miss the way the boy's eyes darted to Molly before back to him.

Sherlock clenched his fists and rose to his feet. "Just you wait, James. I won't go easy on you."

"Neither will I, Sherlock. Neither will I." Moriarty smirked, again glancing over at Molly. He looked back to Sherlock, winked, and strode off, Moran fast on his footsteps.

Sherlock dropped back to the bench, his eyes locked on the food in front of him, his stomach in knots. What was the git hinting at? Did he think he had a chance to become romantically involved with Molly? As if a girl as clever and kind as Molly would show interest in—

Molly's soft voice brought him out of his thoughts. "He's asked to study ancient runes with me. He says I'm the best student in our year and that he could use the extra practice."

Sherlock looked over at Molly, his chest feeling heavy. "False. I'm the best student in ancient runes. At any rate, I hope you declined his offer."

She frowned and began to collect her belongings. "We get the same marks, Sherlock. And no, I didn't. I would like to be his friend. We have our rounds together for all of September. It would be nice to befriend him."

Sherlock swallowed and stared at her. "But we normally do our ancient runes homework together," He forced out, surprised by how small his voice sounded.

Molly rose to her feet and fixed her robes. "Sometimes. And sometimes you ditch me to run around the castle reenacting Nancy Drew novels with John. So… I could use a consistent study buddy."

She turned to John and Mary, giving the couple a soft smile. "I need to go. I'll see you lot later."

Molly disappeared from the Great Hall, leaving Sherlock to fume. He looked to John and Mary, who were exchanging looks with one another.

"Can you believe her? She's fraternizing with the enemy!" Sherlock hissed out, shoving a forkful of egg into his mouth, "Studying with Moriarty? What's next? Tattooing the dark mark to her arm?"

John gawked at his friend's words. "Merlin, Sherlock! That's not funny. You can't compare a bloke you don't like to bloody Voldemort."

Mary nodded in agreement. "Besides, I don't see your issue with Jim. He's nice. Sure, he's a bit of a brown-noser, but he's a good guy."

Sherlock scowled. "A good guy? He's a git! Did you not hear him threatening to take things from me?" He hissed and ate another forkful of egg, "I will be Head Boy next year, even if it's the bloody last thing I ever do!"

John and Mary exchanged another look. Mary sighed and gently tapped Sherlock's hand. "If this is about Molly—"

Sherlock growled and narrowed his eyes. "This has nothing to do with Molly. She's free to study and snog whoever she bloody likes."

And with those words, Sherlock rose to his feet. He gave his friends one final glare before storming off. Mary rolled her eyes and looked at John.

"He is unbelievable." She sighed, "But we're still going to destroy him on the pitch."

John nodded. "Yes, to both. He's not going to know what hit him. Literally, of course, when Greg hits a bludger at him."

-o-o-

Later that afternoon, Sherlock was relieved to be in the cold, dark potions classroom. The scents of exotic organs, herbs, roots, and plants were tantalizing to Sherlock's extremely adept nose. In fact, of all the places in the castle that he truly felt at ease, it was the damp dungeon that made his heart sing.

However, when it was overrun by his fellow N.E.W.T. students and a very irritating Professor Slughorn, the same could not be said. And while Sherlock had shown little but polite contempt for the man, Slughorn was borderline obsessed with him. Of course, Sherlock was clever and extremely talented at potions, but he knew that part of the old man's fascination had to do with Mycroft's performance in the class, so many years ago.

 _Another Slug Club member._

Sherlock scowled and flicked his wand, watching the lavender liquid fill his cauldron. He was fully expecting his invitation in the coming weeks. Slughorn always invited his new batch a few weeks into N.E.W.T. lessons, and of the thirteen students in his class, he knew only three were worthy of an invite.

Himself, Molly, and Moriarty.

That got him to scowl again. Beside him, Molly was busy chopping up dragon liver, humming the tune to some muggle song that he had heard her singing earlier in the day. Like Sherlock, Molly had a passion for music, and of all the muggle contributions to society that Sherlock actually appreciated, music was at the top of the list.

Every Christmas, Molly would gift him muggle music records, allowing Sherlock to spend his holidays listening to the soothing sounds of decades of music. At the thought of her gifts, he looked over from his cauldron to Molly, who had just added her dragon liver, and was now chopping up Dandelion root.

He cleared his throat and tried to focus on chopping up his own Dandelion root. Yet, for some reason, words began to pour out of his mouth.

"My rounds are with Donovan. We don't speak much, you know, given that she dislikes me. So, I quite prefer her as my partner," He swallowed and flicked his wand, watching as the roots dropped into the cauldron, "Well, aside from you of course."

Molly made a noise of acknowledgment and began to stir her mixture. "If you were nicer to Sally, she might be nice to you. You aren't always exactly friendly, Sherlock."

He scowled and started stirring his work. "She's just bitter that I defeated her in a duel in front of the entire school. At any rate, that was two years ago. She should just move on."

Molly shook her head and set her wand down, glancing over at her tablemate. "Defeated her? Sherlock, you two didn't even finish the duel! You deduced her self-confidence issues, crush on Greg Lestrade, and parents' divorce in front of most of our year!"

"There were no rules for our duel that ever forbid me—"

She frowned and turned to face him. "Sherlock, you're one of my best friends but sometimes… You need to remember that some things are private and that—"

Sherlock couldn't help the words that fell from his lips. "Some things are private? Like your love affair with a muggle bloke that you announced to the entire train?"

Molly looked away, her face solemn. She swallowed the words in her throat as Professor Slughorn approached their table, his smile as big as always. He peered into each of their cauldrons and moved his wand, evaluating the shiny, lavender liquid.

"My, my, these both look splendid!" He grinned and filled two vials with a sample from each, "It's a shame neither of you are in Slytherin. I would so very much love having you in my house!"

Molly forced a smile, although her eyes showed no excitement. "Thank you, sir. I really love potions."

Slughorn beamed. "Excellent. I would very much like for both of you to join me for dinner in the coming weeks. Can I count on your attendance?"

Sherlock couldn't help but roll his eyes. Thankfully, Molly was quick to respond for both of them.

"That sounds lovely, sir. Thank you." She whispered, her eyes focused on stirring the already perfect potion.

"Splendid! Keep your eyes open for my owl!" Slughorn beamed and moved across the room, standing in front of the table occupied by a bickering John and Mary. Sherlock couldn't help but smirk as their professor tore into their lackluster product.

While John and Mary were both clever in their own regards, when working together, they normally did more harm than good. Sherlock wished they exceled more at potions. Now he couldn't even look forward to the couple having to suffer through a dinner with the Slug Club.

At the thought of Slughorn's exclusive club, he turned to look at Molly, who was in the processing of shoving her books into her bag. Sherlock cleared his throat.

"I was going to begin my Transfiguration essay in the library once my orchestra practice is over, if you'd like to join me," He told her, also shoving his supplies away.

Molly looked around the room, stopping her eyes on a table in the corner. Sherlock followed her eyes and felt the air escape his lungs. He turned back to Molly and watched her give the occupants a polite wave. His stomach flipped.

Because seated at that table, next to Irene Adler, another Slytherin, was James Moriarty.

"Thanks, Sherlock. But, Jim invited me to do our Charms homework together," She whispered, her eyes refusing to meet Sherlock's gaze.

He cleared his throat. "But, it's Monday. And tomorrow you—"

"I will be studying ancient runes and doing my rounds with Jim, yes."

He narrowed his eyes. "Wonderful, Molly. When will you not be rubbing shoulders with Moriarty?"

Molly laughed softly, although her eyes indicated that she was not enjoying herself. "I don't know, Sherlock. Maybe when you aren't such a prat."

Before he could even respond, she disappeared from the room. Sherlock scowled and grabbed his own bag, intent on racing after her. But, a throaty feminine voice called his name, stopping him in his tracks.

"Holmes," the red-lipped brunette quipped, a smirk across her face, "I thought I'd be nice. Give you a warning."

Sherlock turned and narrowed his eyes. "Irene. Why do you think I care about anything you'd have to tell me?"

She just smirked. "Well, I know what James has in mind with your precious Hooper."

He scowled. "You tell your git of a friend to back off. Molly is not interested in him."

Irene just grinned. "I would disagree, Holmes. Two back-to-back study dates? Strolls in the corridors after hours, nothing but the occasional rogue first-year to distract them from each other's conversation?"

Sherlock swallowed and began moving to the door. "I don't have time for this, Adler."

"Fine. I just thought I'd tell you that he's inviting her to Hogsmeade. As a thank you, please let me know in advance when you intend to attack him. I'd like an up-close view."

Before Sherlock got to respond, the second girl of the day skirted past him and out the door, leaving him with his mouth agape and his mind reeling. When he finally moved to exit, John's boisterous voice hit his ears.

"Hey, mate. What's got you looking so glum? I doubt Slughorn tore into your work like he did for me and Mary," John grumbled, following Sherlock out of the classroom, Mary tagging closely behind.

Sherlock hissed. "Forget Slughorn. I have more pressing matters to attend to."

When he disappeared down a dark corridor, John turned to Mary, his face amused.

"I have a feeling that things are going to get interesting."

Mary just laughed. "Oh, John, they already are. You just haven't paid close enough attention."

-o-o-

By Thursday afternoon, Sherlock was as prepared for his first practice as he would ever be. His new Firebolt had arrived in the mail, as well as a few Quidditch publications that his parents threw in for good measure. Given Mycroft's aversion to physical activity, his parents were quite excited for one of their children to be playing a sport.

So much so that the letter included with his parcel indicated that his parents would be attending his first match of the year. Sherlock sighed and slipped into his practice Quidditch robes, marveling at the soft blue material against his skin.

And, even though he desperately tried to convince himself otherwise, he was nervous. Extremely nervous.

Because while his intentions to join the team steamed from a desire to measure up to Moriarty's social engagements, something else was now on the table.

That something being Molly Hooper.

 _Are you going to fight for her attention like a bloody barbarian?_

With a staggering breath, he ran onto the pitch, settling in front of Anderson, Stamford, and the rest of the team. One of the fourth-year girls, a red-head named Kitty Riley, stared at him with wide eyes. Anderson just beamed.

"Well, as you can see, Sherlock has finally decided to join the—" Anderson's words were cut off by the giggling girl.

She took a step forward and bit her lip. "Hi, Sherlock. I'm—"

He rolled his eyes. "Katherine Riley, half-blood. You prefer to go by Kitty because your late father called you that. You're a beater but rather be a chaser like said father, but unlike said father, you lack the speed and dexterity to do so."

Kitty's mouth fell open. "I—"

Anderson groaned. "That's enough, you lot. Let's take two laps before we go up."

And so, the seven began their jog, Sherlock leading the pack ahead of a very agitated Anderson, who clearly wanted to remind the team that he was the captain, and not the new seeker. But, in typical Sherlock fashion, he would always be the best. Running was no exception.

By the time the team had reconvened to hit the skies, a mass of dark green and black descended towards them. Stamford let out a nasty curse.

"Why are they here? It's Thursday! Phillip, please tell me you reserved the pitch properly," Stamford sent a glare in the direction of his captain.

Anderson crossed his arms and pouted. "Yes, Mike, I got the pitch. Flitwick said Thursday afternoons were free. I would have picked Tuesdays if it weren't for—"

"My orchestra practice, yes. I'm aware. Let's not dwell, shall we?" With that, Sherlock strolled toward the green-robed crew, his broom clutched tightly in his right hand.

He stopped in front of Charles Magnussen, the seventh-year captain, and a smirking James Moriarty, who always seemed to be in gloating spirits. He met Magnussen's grey gaze.

"Magnussen. As I'm sure you're aware, we have the pitch booked until seven," he turned to look over at Anderson, who was nervously biting on his lip, "Our captain spoke to Professor Flitwick. There should be no issue."

"Wrong you are," Moriarty jumped in, beating Charles to the chase, "While you may have originally booked the pitch, Professor Slughorn has now given us permission to use it."

From behind Sherlock, Stamford let out an irritated scowl. "Oh, did the nutter now? You think we give a shit what—"

"Oh, fuck off, Stamford," Magnussen spat out, "You've just got your knickers in a twist since a pussy sixth-year like Anderson was picked to be captain over—"

Sherlock shook his head and began to walk towards the pitch. The arguing ended, as both teams watched him fly into the air. He glared down at the group.

"If we're going to bicker like a group of old hags, perhaps we could use our energy to scrimmage?" He flew a loop around the group, enjoying the feel of the wind against his cheeks.

Sebastian Moran, in typical follower fashion, immediately flew into the air, meeting Sherlock. Jim let out a scowl.

"Sebastian! Get down here. The git needs to get off the pitch or there's going to be trouble," Jim hurried out, his brown eyes burning into Sherlock's.

Sherlock flew towards the ground, circling Jim with extremely ostentatious broom work. Jim let out another angry sputtering of words.

"Stop that! Get off the bloody pitch!"

Sherlock just smirked and flew back into the air. When he waved for the rest of his team to join, they did so immediately, sans Anderson who was fuming at the loss of leadership. Sherlock gave Moriarty one final look.

"If you want me off the pitch, you'll have to get me down yourself."

And so, the afternoon was spent screwing around with the Slytherin team, fighting for territory and supplies. But, it was a success.

While Stamford and Anderson later bitched and moaned about the loss of practice time in the locker room, Sherlock knew they were a leg ahead. Because while the rest of the team had played a game of cat and mouse with the students in green, Sherlock had been watching Moriarty.

Every movement. Every dip. Every thought.

 _This would be too easy._

-o-o-

A few weeks came and went. Sherlock kept himself busy with his studies, orchestra, and Quidditch practice, along with the occasional Hogwarts mystery. On this past Wednesday evening, the night of his rounds with Sally Donovan, three second-year Slytherins ran along the corridors, their noses elongated to resemble a fictional character from a muggle story called Pinocchio.

So, naturally, Sherlock was on the case, quickly picking up a half-asleep, half-snogged to death John from the Gryffindor common room, ignoring Sally's angry yells at him. And after two hours of investigation, Sherlock had found the culprit (an irritating fifth-year Gryffindor student) and was heading towards the kitchens for a late-night snack. John dragged his feet behind.

"You know, as much as it pains me to give Sarah credit, that was a rather clever prank," Sherlock announced, ignoring the commentary of a painting along the walls, "In fact, the average bloke would not have pinned her as guilty."

John groaned and rubbed his eyes. "Yes, Sherlock, I know. You're so smart. Can we just grab a bite—"

But Sherlock wasn't done. "I mean, clearly she intended for a muggle-born to be blamed. Given the allusion, and all. As a pure blood, she never would have been suspected."

Sherlock approached the familiar painting and mumbled a passcode, immediately being welcomed inside by a group of over-eager house elves. At their unwavering attention, he smirked.

"Good evening, you lot. Who wants to hear about the mystery I solved?"

A group of house elves hurried over, dropping a platter of cheese toasties and pumpkin juice in front of the boys. They let out excited cheers and surrounded the pair, their big eyes wide in fascination. John groaned and dropped into a seat, knowing this would go on all evening.

"Well," Sherlock began, sipping his pumpkin juice with a knowing grin, "It started as I was doing my rounds, since, as you know, I'm a prefect. I was nearing a corner with—"

John rubbed his eyes, hoping Molly would take over this role when the two nobs eventually ended up together.

-o-o-

Friday morning, Sherlock was in great spirits. Wednesday evening, he had spent a full forty-five minutes regaling the house elves with his case before heading off to bed, falling into a heavy sleep. Thursday had proven to be a worthy practice with the team, preparing them for their upcoming match, although Sherlock had been so busy that he had barely seen anyone outside of his house. And this morning, he had gotten to recount the story again to Mary, delighted to watch John scowl as he chewed on his eggs.

Even though he was a bit disappointed to not have seen Molly yet, and as a result not recount his adventure, he was still excited to head to potions class. The following day was his first Quidditch match ever, of course against Slytherin, and Sherlock was hoping to pinpoint the team's preparation by studying Slughorn's movements.

At any rate, as he strolled towards the dungeons, behind a bickering John and Mary, he was prepared for whatever lay ahead.

Until he saw Molly's petite frame pushed against the wall, her head thrown back as laughter overcame her features. He noticed her red cheeks, and plush lips, and her glowing eyes. He also noticed James Moriarty, leaning beside the girl, whispering words into her ear that were causing her to giggle uncomfortable.

He tensed and stopped his movements, watching the pair. Mary noticed his halt and looked at him curiously.

"You good, Sherlock?" As soon as the words left her lips, her eyes found the object of his attention. As desperately was she wanted to feel bad for her friend, she had to stiffen a giggle. "Oh, wow. Take a look at that, John."

Her yawning boyfriend was elbowed towards the couple, causing his eyes to shoot open. "Whoa! They might as well be snogging with how close he is to her," John laughed out, looking to Sherlock, expecting words of agreement.

Instead, his gaze met the stone-cold features of the curly-haired boy, who was gripping his wand so tightly that John was concerned it might break.

"Uh, Sherlock?" John asked, continuing to watch his friend.

Sherlock ignored his words and stormed into the classroom, his friends hot on his heels. He stopped at his desk and began to angrily empty the articles of his bag. John went to speak to the boy but was stopped by a knowing Mary.

Eventually Molly arrived at their desk, her brown hair tucked into a long pleat, her cheeks still red from her previous engagement. She smiled at Sherlock as she emptied her own backpack.

"Hi, Sherlock. How are you feeling? Are you ready for tomorrow?" She asked, using her wand to organize the stack of books in front of her.

At the silence from the boy, she turned to look at him. He was busy distracting himself with their assigned reading passages, clearly ignoring her presence. She frowned and sat up.

"Sherlock?" She asked again, a frown crossing her lips.

When he ignored her again, instead turning his page, she crossed her arms and focused on Slughorn, who had just entered the classroom. Sherlock gazed up at the Professor, noting his excited smile and flamboyant movements.

"Good morning class! We have an extra special class today," He began, settling in the front of the room. He flicked his wand and watched with glee as the words "Draught of the Living Death" appeared on the blackboard.

"Today, whichever one of my lovely students produces the best batch of said potion, will win a dose of one of the greatest, albeit dangerous potions out there."

That caught everyone's attention. Any shifting and mumbling from the students stopped, leaving only thirteen pairs of eyes on Slughorn. He grinned, enjoying the attention.

"Whoever can produce the best batch will receive—" He stopped speaking and held up a tiny vial, filled with a golden liquid. The class gasped, and an excited Phillip Anderson spat out the answer.

"Felix Felicis! Liquid luck!" He announced delightedly, clearly missing Slughorn's irritation at being denied that grand announcement.

He cleared his throat and set the vial down. "Indeed. Mr. Anderson is right. This is Liquid Luck. A sip of this and all of your endeavors will be successful."

Slughorn smiled. "Turn to page thirty-nine for your instructions. I wish—"

He was cut off by the immediate mumblings and movements from students, as they all rushed to begin their brews.

The classroom was eerily question as the students worked, some with their noses buried in their books, others furiously collecting ingredients. Sherlock, however, was unbothered, casually flipping through the book with pure boredom. He had read virtually everything ever published on the Draught of the Living Death and knew he could easily whip up the best potion in no time at all. In fact, he was so confident in his ability that he merely shut the book, settled in his seat, and slowly began the process of crushing the juice from a Sopophorous Bean. As he added the juice to the cauldron, slowly but surely additional chatter filled the room.

He could hear John and Mary bickering about desk space (again), Anderson making an unwanted advance at Sally Donovan (again), and Irene Adler whispering quietly to Moriarty (again). At the sight of the two conspiring Slytherins, he clenched the bean in his hand, cursing as some of the sticky juice from it coated his wand.

Molly looked over from stirring her cauldron. "Are you mad at me?" She asked, her soft voice almost lost in the noise of classroom.

Sherlock hurriedly cleaned his wand on his robe and went about stirring his cauldrons, not once looking over at the girl. "Of course not. Why would you think that?"

She laughed softly. "Well, I haven't spoken to you in nearly a week."

"Nonsense. I asked you for ink in Charms on Monday."

She frowned and added a touch of Infusion of Wormwood. "I hardly think that counts, Sherlock. We're friends and friends are supposed to—"

He cut her off with a curt laugh, jerking his wand to stir the cauldron. His focus drifted across the classroom, watching Moriarty comfortably stir his cauldron. The brown-eyed boy met Sherlock's gaze, his lips twitching into a smile.

Sherlock scowled and shook his head angrily. "Friends? I didn't realize we were friends. Surely you don't need me for studying or fawning over now that you have Moriarty by your side."

Molly stopped her stirring and frowned. She just stared at the boy, until he finally looked back at her. He immediately knew he had said something wrong, given the way her chocolate eyes had filled with tears.

 _You bloody moron._

"Is that what you think our friendship is?" She croaked out, her lips trembling, "Me using your self-proclaimed cleverness to do homework? Or my chance to ogle at you because of a stupid, pathetic crush?"

She angrily wiped away an escaped tear and began to collect her belongings. She continued her staggered words.

"First of all, I don't need to ask your permission to befriend someone. Jim is sweet and pays attention to me. Is that so much to ask for?" She forced out, angrily trying to force her potions book into her rug sack.

"And as for us, apparently I was mistaken. I thought we were friends because we got along and could talk about school, and muggle music, and healing, and tease John," She sniffled and flicked her wand, stirring her cauldron one final time.

"I guess I was wrong. So, my apologies if you've felt used for your intellect. But news flash Sherlock: We get the same marks. I'm clever too."

She turned on her heels and stormed towards the front of the classroom but stopped in the middle of the room. The other eleven students stopped to watch her, finally realizing that something out of the ordinary was going on.

"And, to make it known, Sherlock Holmes, my pathetic crush on you is long gone. Because that's all it ever was. A pathetic crush."

Molly held her head up high and stormed towards Professor Slughorn, confessing that she had a horrible stomach ache. Too flustered by her outburst to suggest anything but a visit to Madame Pomfrey, Slughorn let her go.

Slughorn and the students alike watched her leave. As soon as her petite frame escaped the confines of the dungeon, twelve pairs of eyes shifted towards Sherlock, who was focused intently on his cauldron, as if nothing has happened.

Disappointed, the students went back to work, whispering about quiet Molly's outburst and Sherlock's cool reaction.

Sherlock, however, did not move. He found his body unable to react, his brain running on overdrive.

 _A pathetic crush?_

He forced himself to take a deep breath and gazed back at his half-finished potion, realizing that he should probably pick up his speed if he were to finish on time. As he moved to grab a vial of asphodel root, Slughorn's voice stopped his movements.

"Wands down! It's time to see who has killer potion skills!" The old moron laughed at his own joke and approached the desk of two Hufflepuffs.

Sherlock looked at his incomplete potion and crossed his arms.

 _Well. This was not how the afternoon was supposed to play out._

-o-o-

While Sherlock not receiving the vial of Felix Felicis had proven to be a shock to not only him, but also most of the class, the biggest surprise was perhaps who _did_ win the batch.

And the blonde-haired devil was making it known to anyone who would listen that she had beat the wonderfully clever Sherlock Holmes.

"Sherlock, dear, remember when I won the Liquid Luck because your potion was merely a crappy draught and not capable of murdering anyone?" Mary sang, skipping down the corridors as if she owned the castle.

John smirked and watched his girlfriend, thoroughly enjoying her success as much as she was. He glanced over at his friend, delighted by his stony features and angry gaze.

"Maybe I'm now the smartest student in our year!" She declared, twirling for the entire world to see.

"You're being dethroned!" She added with a laugh, grabbing onto his arm for balance, "And now all my endeavors will succeed!"

She glanced at his face, expecting to take delight in his assumed look of irritation and frustration. Instead, she stepped back, surprised by his distracted eyes and sullen features. She frowned.

"Sherlock?" Mary began, her voice having lost its playful manner, "We can talk, if you'd like."

John rolled his eyes. "Oh, don't feed into his ego! He's just pissed about losing."

Mary sent her boyfriend a glare. "No, John, this is not about the potion. This is about Molly." She turned to Sherlock and gave him a pointed look, "Isn't it?"

At the sound of the girl's name, he flinched and shook his head angrily. "Molly? What about Molly? If she would like to spend her evenings fawning after James Moriarty, then so be it!" He spat out.

Mary held onto his arm and sighed. "Sherlock, dear, we can talk about this. What did you say that prompted her…" She bit her lip, struggling to find her words, "Outburst?"

He scowled. "What did I say? Why do you assume that it was my doing?"

At that, even John snorted. "Sherlock, you're a git. Of course, you started it."

Mary nodded. "Look, you may be the cleverest when it comes to books and potions and what not, but I know romance. I know girls. So, let me help you."

The word 'romance' prompted Sherlock to flinch again. "Romance? Merlin, Mary. Do you think we're in some muggle novel?"

She shook her head. "You're impossible. For someone so intelligent, you are the bloody stupidest bloke I've ever met! And I had to practically scream from the astronomy tower that I loved John before he realized how I felt!"

John pouted. "I wasn't that oblivious!"

Mary rolled her eyes. "John, I had to sneak into your bed starkers before you realized I fancied you."

He grinned fondly at the memory. "Yeah…"

She turned back to Sherlock and ruffled his curls. "I know you have practice, so we won't hold you. But let's talk about this later, yeah?"

Sherlock scowled and looked away. "I have to worry about my match tomorrow. Not Molly having feelings for that git."

With those words, he walked off to change for his final Quidditch practice before tomorrow's match. Mary turned to John and just groaned.

"Is he really that blind to his own feelings? To her feelings?" She asked, taking his hand in her own.

John shrugged and kissed her wrist. "I dunno. But I'm worried for tomorrow. I'm afraid things might get…" He bit his lip and shrugged, "Violent."

Mary grinned. "How do you mean? You think they'll fight over her?"

"Maybe. Sherlock does have a temper, but it's reserved for two specific people. Mycroft and Moriarty. Both of whom he's trying to prove something to tomorrow."

She bit her lip. "Bugger. Well, at least we can watch the madness from the sidelines!"

He nodded. "And then kick Hufflepuff's arses next week."

John kissed Mary and led his girlfriend back to their common room, keen to snog until supper rolled around.

-o-o-

A few hours later, and Sherlock was absolutely exhausted. His brain and body had been through hell and back, after his not-so-pleasant potions class, and then a final, extremely vigorous practice before their match. While Anderson was normally a very laid-back leader, and hesitant to upset anyone on his team, he had been in a foul mood and kicked their arses.

Sherlock knew that his teammates attributed Anderson's tough leadership to his passion to defeat Slytherin the following afternoon, but he knew it was because Sally Donovan had issued a rather nasty rejection to one of his Hogsmeade invites earlier in the day.

So, with the practice over, and his stomach filled with more treacle tarte than he had ever eaten, he was ready for a long bath and a restful evening. Sherlock rarely got more than six hours of sleep, his mind normally on over-drive with new things to learn, concepts to save, and useless events to delete from his consciousness. But today, he just had no more to give.

He strolled into the prefects' bathroom, intent on soaking the strain out of his body. But as he neared the porcelain tub, the sight of wavy brown hair and pale shoulders paralyzed him. The bubbles shifted, exposing a pair of perky breasts and a flat stomach to his curious eyes.

 _Molly._

He swallowed and hid behind the wall, carefully peaking over the edge to watch the girl. She shifted again and began to wash her shoulders, humming a soft tone that had his heart beating out of his chest.

Why was she here? Shouldn't she be asleep by now? Or reading one of her silly muggle novels? Or just… not taking a bloody bath when Sherlock needed the tub!

His eyes were transfixed on her chest, completely taken by her pebbled pink nipples, and her alabaster skin. He shut his eyes for a moment, willing himself to walk right out of the bathroom and straight back to the Ravenclaw common room. But he just couldn't.

 _You're a bloody pervert, Sherlock Holmes._

And then, when he finally convinced his brain that he _had_ to leave, a feminine moan floated through the air and tore his world apart. He glanced back over at the tub, his mouth dropping open, as his sweet, dearest Molly flattened her back and ran a hand down her stomach, until it rested beneath the water.

Another squeal filled the air, one arm moving in the water, the other coming to her chest to grasp one of her pert breasts. She let out a soft moan as one hand pinched and pulled at her mouth-wateringly perfect nipples, the other arm moving furiously within the bubbly water.

Sherlock, as much as he desperately tried to tell himself, was still a hormonal teenage boy. And while he knew the respectful thing to do would be to leave, cast a privacy charm, and pretend this never happened, he simply couldn't.

His cock was much too enamored with the scene before him, so he stayed behind the wall, his feet glued to the tile floor. He swallowed and continued to watch the tendrils of her hair frame her cherubic face, her lips part in silent gasps, and her hands move in furious devotion.

And just as it began, it ended with a delightful squeal, her petite body shaking as it slide deeper into the water. When she let out a soft laugh, Sherlock knew he had to go. With a shaking hand through his curls, he raced out of the bathroom, practicing running back to the Ravenclaw tower.

 _A shower there will just have to do._

Back in the bathroom, Molly got out of the water and began to dry off, her gaze drifting back towards the wall. She took a shaky breath and shifted the towel through her wavy locks, wondering if she was silly for following Mary's advice.

-o-o-

Two hours later, Sherlock still sat awake in his bed, his mind per usual, on overdrive. He had taken a quick shower and returned to his sleeping quarters rather speedily, intent on getting as much sleep as possible. Yet, every time he shut his eyes, all he could see and hear was Molly's delicious breasts and wonderfully soft moans.

So, he had no choice but to indulge, his wand flicking his curtains shut. He slipped his hand into his pyjama pants, freeing his engorged cock, which had yet to waiver since his trip to the prefects' bathroom. He spit into his hand and gave himself a gentle tug.

 _I'm entitled to this. Anderson does it every bloody night. You'd think with how loud he is that he'd at least learn how to cast a silencing charm._

He shut his eyes and continued to massage his cock, imagining what it would have been like to see Molly's entire nude form. To capture one of her pebbled, pink nipples between his lips. To run his hand down her flat stomach and delve between her toned legs. To bend her over the side of the tub and push into her, their bodies becoming one. To bury his face in her hair, like his cock would be buried inside her. To hold—

He let out a breathy moan as he spilled his seed onto his pyjama top. He cursed and pulled the shirt off, embarrassed yet relieved by how quick he had rushed through that endeavor. He cuddled back under his covers and took a deep breath.

Hopefully, an orgasm would be just what he needed to lull him to sleep. He had a one James Moriarty to defeat tomorrow.

-o-o-

As it turns out, even an orgasm wasn't enough to shut down Sherlock Holmes' brain. As he stumbled into the Great Hall the following morning, his body shaking with only a single hour of sleep, he just hoped that no one would notice how awful he looked.

Anderson rushed over to him, all excited energy. "Be picky about your breakfast, Sherlock. No caffeine. We don't want any crashing. Same goes for sugar."

Sherlock just offered him a glare, too tired to give a snarky retort. He approached his normal table and dropped beside John, who was busy shoving a piece of toast into his mouth. His best mate looked over at him and immediately quirked an eyebrow.

"You look like shite. Why do you look like you got no sleep?" John asked, shoving a forkful of eggs into his mouth as soon as the words left his lips.

Sherlock eyed the food with trepidation. "Because I got no sleep," he mumbled, as he dumped a spoonful of fruit in front of him.

"Well, that wasn't smart," John replied, sipping his tea, "Given that your biggest Quidditch match of the year is in two hours."

Mary scowled and elbowed her boyfriend. "I think he knows that, yeah?" She turned to Sherlock, "So, why didn't you sleep last night?"

He met the girl's gaze but immediately refocused on the food. "Unimportant."

Mary opened her mouth to respond but was distracted as a gorgeous owl flew towards the table. John took one look at the bird and choked on his food. She raised an eyebrow and looked towards Sherlock, who had legitimately frozen at its arrival.

She looked at John in confusion. He swallowed and leaned towards her.

"That's Guinevere. Mycroft's owl," He whispered, his eyes shifting between Sherlock's stone-cold gaze, the flawless creature, and his girlfriend's inquisitive eyes.

Sherlock swallowed the food in his mouth and tentatively grabbed the letter attached to the bird. He rubbed her head and watched her fly off, before opening the envelope. As he began to read, John and Mary watched on, immediately noticing the tensing of his body and the muscle in his jaw begin to throb.

As soon as he finished reading the letter, Sherlock crumbled it and slammed his fists on the table, causing his friends to jump up in shock.

"Mycroft is coming," He hissed out, his bloodshot eyes widening in frustration, "Why does he think he's invited? And his letter was so bloody pompous! He said he wouldn't fault me for losing my first match."

John bit his lip. "Surely it isn't too bad if Mycroft comes. Your parents were always coming."

Sherlock scowled and shoved his plate away. "Not too bad? You don't understand what kind of monster he is! I… I…." He swallowed and ran a shaky hand through his hair, "I can't possibly play with him tearing apart my every movement!"

Mary reached across the table and squeezed his hand. He met her gaze and took a shuttering breath. Her soft voice slowly soothed him.

"Yes, you can, Sherlock. It doesn't matter if he's watching in the stands. Your friends will be there to support you too," She whispered, a smile on her lips.

Sherlock opened his mouth to respond but was distracted by Mike Stamford's boisterous voice. He turned towards his teammate, who sat a few seats down.

"What in Merlin's name are you wearing?" He practically yelled, immediately jumping out of his seat, "You're a bloody traitor!"

Mary's soft "Oh bloody hell" filled his ears as his eyes landed on the object of Stamford's frustration. Because approaching their table, clad in a blue Ravenclaw jumper but a very green scarf, was none other than Molly Hooper. She held her chin up and tightened the scarf, glaring at Mike in the process.

"Look, of course I support you lot!" She began, rather calmly, "I want Ravenclaw to win. I would never root against my house. But since a very dear friend of mine is playing on the other team, I needed to show him that I support his performance just as much."

Stamford narrowed his eyes. "So, it's true then? You and Moriarty are an item?" He shook his head and dug back into his breakfast, "Shame. You were a clever girl."

Molly glared at him and sat beside Mary, immediately filling her plate with some fruit. Sherlock was staring at her, holding onto his fork so tightly that it would surely break at any moment.

When she met his gaze, and gave him an indignant look in response, the fork did just that. Sherlock dropped the broken pieces and sat up straight. He practically growled.

"How could you?" He managed out, his voice equally hurt as it was angry.

Molly met his eyes, her brown ones as sad as his own. "How could I what? Support my friend? That's what friends do. And last time I checked, we weren't friends. Remember? I just hung around you because I fancied you and wanted to pick your brain."

Sherlock swallowed and gripped his legs underneath the table, surely bruising his thighs in the process. "You're in Ravenclaw. How could you possibly want Slytherin to—"

"I don't want Slytherin to win!" She spat back, angrily buttering a piece of toast, "I just want Jim to catch the snitch. And last time I checked, no matter how rare, it's possible for us to win and him to do just that."

Sherlock looked positively wounded. "You—"

His words were cut off by an approaching Moriarty, clad in his green Quidditch robes, joined by Sebastian Moran. He grinned at Molly and kissed her cheek.

"I quite like the green on you. It's a shame it isn't permanent," He said with a wink.

She blushed and bit her lip. "I'll wear it for you Jim, but my heart is still very much blue."

He laughed and nodded. "I know, love, I know. I appreciate the thought. Can we go on a walk before I hit the pitch?"

Molly nodded and rose to her feet. She whispered quiet goodbyes to John and Mary, before meeting Sherlock's blue gaze. When he quickly looked away, she held her head up high and walked out of the Great Hall, Moriarty's hand on her back the entire way out.

John swallowed and looked over at Sherlock, immediately recognizing the glossy look in his eyes and his passive face. He cursed and turned to Mary.

"Fuck. Mary, he's buffering. He's done for."

Mary frowned and grabbed Sherlock's hand. "Sherlock, sweetie, talk to me."

At her touch, he blinked quickly and began to shake. He looked around the room before settling on his two friends, his blue eyes blown wide.

"I can't do this. I can't. Not with Mycroft there. Not with Molly bloody practically snogging Moriarty at the table. I can't…" He began to choke on air, his breathing coming out in short spurts.

John cursed and jumped to his feet, forcing Sherlock to stand up and move out of the hall. He led him towards the courtyard, Mary following close behind. He shoved Sherlock into a wall and smacked his cheek, waiting for his best mate to meet his gaze.

"Sherlock, I have seen you do things that no one in the wizarding world is capable of. Well, maybe besides Harry Potter, but he doesn't bloody count. You're one of the smartest, most skilled wizards out there. You aren't going to let your prat of a brother and a git like Moriarty knock you off your game."

Sherlock shook his head and let out another desperate breath. "She hates me. Molly hates me. It's all my fault."

John scowled. "She doesn't hate you. She's just hurt."

"What if I lose? Mycroft will never let me live it down. Moriarty will never let me live it down. Molly will start dating him, and Moriarty will become head boy, and I'll forever live in Mycroft's pompous shadow, doing stupid low-level ministry work until I'm lucky enough to die!"

Mary appeared around the corner and thrusted a cup of pumpkin juice towards Sherlock. She gave him a soft smile.

"I want you to take a deep breath, drink some pumpkin juice, and then we'll talk through this," Her soft voice promised.

Sherlock swallowed and nodded, before bringing the cup to his lips and emptying it in one pull. He blinked a couple of times and looked at the cup, before back at Mary.

"Thanks… I feel a lot better," He explained, before looking towards the grassy fields outside the castle, "In fact, I need to head to the pitch. I think I'll go on a run before I kick Moriarty's arse and show Mycroft who's the best bloody son."

Before either of his friends could get a word out, Sherlock ran off, a new pep in his step. John looked to Mary, his mouth agape.

"Well, that was weird." He began, looking over to his girlfriend. Although, at the sight of her red cheeks and nervous eyes, he cursed. "What did you do?"

She bit her lip and looked down. "Something very illegal."

"Mary!"

"I had to do it! He was falling apart, John! He needed a push. Now, he'll win the match, one-up Mycroft, and hopefully win Molly's affections!" Mary explained, bringing her thumb to her mouth to nibble on the nail.

John ran a hand through his hair and looked around. He cursed and settled his gaze on his girlfriend. "That's not legal for Quidditch matches, Mary."

She rolled her eyes. "No one will know. Besides, is a confident Sherlock something we've never seen before? That bloke is the definition of faith in oneself."

She began to walk towards the pitch, her boyfriend chasing after her. "I know what I did was wrong but I'm not sorry for doing it. My friend was in need, and I could help. He never has to know."

John groaned and nodded. "Your big heart is going to get you into trouble one day, Mary."

She couldn't help but grin. "Maybe so. But at least I have half a vial of Felix Felicis to get me out of the mess if that ever is the case."

-o-o-

An hour later and the match had begun. Sherlock had easily spotted Mycroft and his parents, tucked next to the professors and Headmistress McGonagall. Although he couldn't hear his brother, he was certain he was regaling his former professors about his ministry position, likely droning on and on about his high rank at such a young age.

And then he found Molly, sitting next to two Ravenclaw girls, watching the pitch intently. Behind her were John and Mary, holding hands and already screaming, surely yelling not-so-pleasant remarks at the Slytherin team.

He flew around the stadium, his eyes flickering over each and every inch, deducing any possible flight path of the snitch. He could see Moriarty casually flying near their keeper, surely yelling taunts at the new third-year they had placed in the position.

Slytherin was up by thirty points, made possible by the extremely talented chaser on their team, Moran. And Moran was a relatively useless bloke, having nothing to contribute sans being Moriarty's body guard and scoring during a match.

Anderson was screaming for the team to pick it up, himself scoring in the process. Even Sherlock couldn't help but cheer at the cut down Slytherin's lead. And then, he saw it.

The fluttering of gold, moving around one of the Slytherin beaters. And while common sense would dictate flying towards the snitch, for some reason, Sherlock had a strong desire to chat with John. So, he did just that, ignoring the yells of confusion from his team.

Sherlock flew right towards the stands, hovering in front of where Molly sat. He looked at her before immediately directing his attention towards John. His best mate just stared at him, mouth agape.

"Hey, mate. I know you're new to this and all, but you know your job is to catch the Snitch, yeah?" John asked, his eyes scanning the pitch for any sign of the golden ball.

Sherlock nodded and glanced over, watching as Moriarty watched him. "Mhm. So, I'm aware. But I fancied a chat with you."

John just blinked. "Well, I… I'm good. Thanks for asking. Just enjoying the match."

Sherlock nodded and looked towards the pitch, surprised to see Magnussen barreling towards him, a bludger being hit in his direction. The ground let out a gasp of fear as Sherlock turned on his broom, avoiding the rogue ball. But, the crowd's screams did not waiver, as the bludger tore into a portion of the wooden stands.

And then a familiar piercing scream met his ears, and he watched as Molly was hurled off the broken bleachers. He immediately flew forward and caught her, steadying her on his broom. She let out a cry and held onto him, shaking in fear.

"That's it, Molly, I got you," he whispered into her ear, flying to an undamaged set of stands, "You aren't' hurt."

He set her down and smiled softly before racing back onto the pitch.

 _How bizarre._

He again saw a glimmer of gold, but still had a weird desire to fly towards the ground. And so, he did just that, gliding through the air towards the ground of the pitch, the wind whistling in his ears. Just as he expected, Moriarty followed close behind, expecting that Sherlock had his eye on the Snitch.

"I saw your heroics out there," Moriarty yelled, now flying neck and neck with Sherlock, "It doesn't make you a hero, though."

Sherlock growled and sped up, his eyes locked on seemingly nothing, knowing the golden ball was in the opposite direction. He moved around a wooden pillar and strained his body to keep up.

 _You're almost there. Be clever._

"Molly's mine, Sherlock. Just like the Head Boy badge is. Just like this snitch is." He remarked.

Sherlock snarled and pivoted upwards, bolting into the air like a bout of fireworks. The snitch was moving behind the ear of Kitty Riley, and he wasted no time. Unfortunately, the beater was surrounded by Stamford, and three Slytherin players, including Magnussen.

Knowing his best option, Sherlock simply shrugged and hoped for the best. To everyone's pure horror, he ejected himself off the broom, treating it like a bloody trampoline, and dove through the air. With one hand, he caught the snitch, and in the process accidentally knocked Magnussen off his broom.

Both boys began a deadly descent towards the ground, until Anderson of all people swooped down, grabbing onto Sherlock. Magnussen hit the hard ground with a thud, immediately holding onto his arm and screaming in pain.

Madame Hooch blew her whistle and ran over, yelling for Madame Pomfrey to be brought over to examine Magnussen. As the rest of the players returned to the ground, Sherlock heard the wonderful words through the speakers.

"Ravenclaw wins! Sixth-year Sherlock Holmes has caught the snitch! I repeat, Ravenclaw defeats Slytherin 180 to 40!"

The crowd erupted into madness, the screams of delight coursing through Sherlock's veins like a drug. He took a deep breath and puffed his chest out.

 _Oh, yes. I could get used to this._

-o-o-

Approximately forty minutes, a lengthy shower, and an impassioned speech from Anderson later, Sherlock stood outside of the locker room, being attacked with kisses by his mother. She let out another squeal and wrapped her arms around her youngest child.

"Oh, you were magnificent out there! I was so worried when you caught that girl, and then things were getting violent, and then you almost fell and oh!" She pulled him closer and pressed a rather juicy kiss to his forehead, "My son is an athlete!"

Sherlock couldn't help but blush. "I'm pleased you made it."

Mycroft's annoying throat clearing caught his attention. He scowled and looked towards his older brother, who looked rather unimpressed.

"I suppose a congrats is in order. Although, it seems to me that you could have caught the bloody thing without all the theatrics," He droned on.

Sherlock smirked. "Maybe, maybe not. You wouldn't know since you have never played."

Mycroft narrowed his eyes. "Right. Then I'll be back in a few weeks for your next match."

"I look forward to then, Mycroft."

He gave his family polite goodbyes before slipping on his Quidditch jumper. He turned a corner and was immediately embraced in a bear hug by Mary. She grinned and pressed a kiss to his cheek.

"Oh, Sherlock! You were splendid!" She cried out, "I'm so proud of you!"

John rubbed his friend's back. "Me too, mate. You started off weird but hey, you caught the snitch _and_ helped knock Magnussen out!"

Sherlock grinned. "That was brilliant, wasn't it?"

John opened his mouth to reply but was cut off by his girlfriend. "How are you feeling?"

"Are you referring to my coming down from the potion you slipped me?"

John and Mary stared at him, their mouths agape. "How did you—"

He cut the Gryffindors off. "As if anything gets by me. But, I appreciate the thought. To answer your question, fine. A bit groggy, but fine."

Mary sighed. "I did it to help you."

"I know. And you did. I—"

His words were lost in his throat as Molly approached. She was playing with her hands, and clearly nervous. He cleared his throat.

"Molly…"

"Sherlock," She began, nibbling on her lip, "I just came by to say thank you. For saving me, I mean."

He nodded quickly. "I just did what anyone would have done."

She shook her head. "No. Not everyone. A lot of people would have just kept on playing."

Sherlock swallowed. "You're more important—"

His words were again cut off by James Moriarty's appearance. He gave Sherlock a curt nod and wrapped his arms around Molly.

"Come on, Molly. You promised me a drink."

She swallowed and looked at Sherlock, before back to James. She nodded slowly. "Right. Yeah."

Moriarty gave Sherlock a knowing look before pressing his lips to Molly's. When he pulled away, he winked at the boy before dragging her after him. She whimpered and waved goodbye to the trio.

Sherlock swallowed and stared after them, his hands curling into fists. He looked back to John and Mary and stood up straight.

"Right, then. We're celebrating in the common room. I need to get sloshed."

With those words, he stormed off. John looked at Mary, the couple sighing in unison. They followed Sherlock's fervent movements, knowing a long evening was ahead of them.

 **To be continued….**


	3. Polyjuice Potion

It had been a good night for Ravenclaw. Not only had they won Hogwarts' first Quidditch match of the year, but they also beat Slytherin and knocked their captain, Charles Magnussen, out for at least the house's next match.

The atmosphere in the tower was extraordinary. In true Hogwarts fashion, the aftermath of the first match of the year always led to a stellar party hosted by the winning team. So, the studious Ravenclaws took the reins, finally proving that they could party like they could ace their O.W.L.S.

And the players were getting some much-deserved attention, too. Mike Stamford, who was still bitter after being overlooked for the captain badge even as the oldest player on the team, was delightfully listening to the drunken giggles of a couple of Gryffindor girls. After trying (and failing) to impress Sally Donovan after his excellent performance and saving of Sherlock, Phillip Anderson had moved on to snogging some fifth-year Hufflepuff.

Kitty Riley was enjoying the attention of a few blokes, and even Specter was getting his feet dirty. The team and the house were finally enjoying the attention of a win, and the promise of a successful season ahead of them.

And then there was Sherlock. As the team's seeker, he naturally attracted the most attention after a win. And given his rookie status and the insane tumble he took to catch the snitch—not to mention taking Magnussen out in the process—he was quite the spectacle at the celebration.

But, even though he expected to thrive in the attention and the mindless chatter of how fantastic he was, he felt rather sick to his stomach. And unfortunately for him, that illness was not the result of digesting a potion like Felix Felicis.

Rather, it was the side-effect of watching one particular petite brunette Ravenclaw student enjoy the whispers and touches of his mortal enemy.

 _Molly._

He watched Moriarty pull Molly flush against his body. He watched the twit's lips descend along her neck. He watched her mouth open in a soft gasp. He watched the way her eyes shot open, her hands gripped the chair, her cheeks grew red, her—

"Oh, for the love of Merlin, Sherlock. Stop!" Mary's voice jolted him from his study. He turned to face the blonde, taking a sip of his stale butterbeer in the process.

She smacked his hand and ripped the glass away. In its place, she thrusted a full bottle of firewhisky.

"You just won your first Quidditch match, defeated Slytherin and that dick Moriarty, _and_ hurt Magnussen! You're going to perk up and get sloshed, you understand me?" Mary hissed, taking a gulp from her own bottle.

John dropped beside him and nodded excitedly, his sunken eyes suggesting a drunken state. "She's right, mate. Staring at Molly all night isn't going to do anything."

Sherlock glared at the couple and uncapped the bottle, taking a quick pull. As soon as the burning liquid ran down his throat, he descended into a coughing frenzy, one hand holding onto his chair, the other grasping the bottle for dear life. Mary offered him an amused smile and began to pound at his back.

"There, there, Sherlock. I didn't realize it was your first drink! How have you avoided this around a certified drunk like John?" Mary asked, continuing to hit at his back.

John snorted and poked his girlfriend's cheek. "I'm not a drunk!"

Mary gave him a look. Even drunk John knew when to avoid a fight, and instead sipped his drink. Sherlock was still unamused in all of this and took to the bottle to show such. After another two gulps, and admittedly an easier time down his throat, he sat up straighter.

"I beat James Moriarty today. I'm like the king of this bloody school!" He declared, slamming his fists on his thighs in the process.

Mary looked over Sherlock, taking in his blue Quidditch jumper and curly hair. His smug smirk sent her into a giggling fit, which John soon joined.

"What?" Sherlock spat out, eying his two best friends.

John snorted and reached forward to touch Sherlock but proceeded to fall out of his chair in the process. Mary grabbed his hand and helped him back to his feet. Unfortunately, as soon as their eyes met, their drunken brains had other intentions.

And then, in front of innocent Sherlock's eyes, his best friends began a far too intense snog for the middle of his common room. He cursed and jumped to his feet, immediately weaving in and out of drunken students, intent on escaping the noise.

He had almost reached the path to his room when a smug brunette in a green jumper stopped his movements. His irritated gaze met her arrogant aura.

"Holmes."

"Adler."

He crossed his arms. "Yes? Is there a reason you're blocking my access to my bedroom? I hope you're not expecting an invitation."

"My, my, does the almighty Sherlock Holmes think highly of himself," the red-lipped brunette quipped, her eyebrow quirking in the process, "Perhaps I wanted to say hello to a dear friend."

"I have limited friends, Adler. I am quite certain you're not one of them."

"Pity. Well, then I'll be polite and share my news anyhow."

Sherlock narrowed his eyes. "On with it."

Irene glanced over her shoulder, her eyes locking in on a group of students chatting over a muggle party game. In the midst of the crowd sat Molly, tucked into the lap of a grinning James Moriarty. Irene glanced back at Sherlock, smirking once her eyes met his tense features.

"He's asked her to Hogsmeade. She's said yes. So…." Irene took a step away from the angry Ravenclaw and peeked at her nails, "I reckon after this weekend, they'll officially be a thing."

Sherlock growled and clenched his fists. "Your thoughts mean nothing to me."

Irene simply smirked and sauntered off, rejoining the party. He growled and followed her movements with his eyes, only looking away when the Slytherin had rejoined a group of students. It was then that he felt eyes on his form and met Molly's gaze from across the room. He immediately recognized the emotion in the brown orbs.

 _Disgust._

He shook his head and stormed to his room, no longer in the mood for a party.

Apparently, it hadn't mattered if Ravenclaw beat Slytherin. James Moriarty was still steadily winning the match.

-o-o-

Sherlock had been hoping, for once in his life, for an uneventful Sunday. Between the Quidditch match, seeing his family, the business with Molly, and his slight hangover, he didn't want anything more than a belly full of greasy food and perhaps a good read.

But since things rarely went to plan, Sherlock found himself being shaken away by Anderson at approximate eight in the morning, far too early for a relaxing Sunday. His eyes shot open and met the annoyed gaze of his roommate. He was quite used to that look.

"Is there a reason you're waking me up, Anderson?" He asked, his voice groggy. He sat up and rubbed his eyes, already cursing the loss of a late morning.

Anderson, however, looked peeved. "Well Stamford bloody woke me up because Riley bloody woke him up!"

Sherlock looked bored. "Am I needed or am I being punished for winning our match?"

"It's Watson! Outside. Bloody woke up half the house with the wailing. Go fix it. It's _your_ problem."

Sherlock quirked an eyebrow. John crying? Sounded plausible, but a bit out of the ordinary. He jumped out of bed and slipped into his dressing gown, before stumbling into the common room. His mind was filling with reasons for why John would be showing up in the Ravenclaw common room on a Sunday morning.

 _Family death? He'd go to Mary._

 _Problems with Mary? Wouldn't get out of bed._

 _Pregnant Mary?_

He cursed. That surely couldn't be it.

 _Could it?_

All these thoughts disappeared when instead of a hungover John Watson, his eyes met the red-faced, puffy-eyed stature of Harriet Watson. Sherlock blinked a few times, registering her presence.

 _Unexpected._

"I'm sorry!" She immediately sobbed out, "I just need your help and I need it now!"

Sherlock blinked again. Crying females were not his specialty. "Uh… Are you alright, Harriet?"

"Do I look alright?" She practically screamed, fresh tears continuing to stream down her face.

He cursed softly. "Is it John? Your parents?"

"No!" She sobbed out, her body shaking, "Much worse!"

He took a deep breath. "Harriet, this would go much smoother if you told me—"

"It's Jeremy!" She screeched, her sobbing voice causing Sherlock to flinch, "I think he's cheating on me and I need you to prove it!"

Sherlock cursed and shook his head.

 _Overreacting must run in the Watson blood._

-o-o-

"I knew I should have given him a shiner!" John screeched, shoving another forkful of potato into his mouth, "I knew that prat would be trouble!"

Mary pat his hand and frowned, before glancing over to Sherlock. He sipped his tea and per usual, looked rather bored. She sighed. "What did she say, exactly?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "She believes that Jeremy having an affair. She does not, however, have any idea who, nor any proof that it's actually happening."

"Of course he's cheating on her!" John exclaimed, "You know how Slytherins are!"

Mary sighed. "Right. Well, what are you going to do about it, Sherlock?"

He yawned and finished his tea. "John and I are going to Polyjuice as two Slytherin girls and infiltrate the common room. I've narrowed down my list of his potential adulterers. We'll catch him showing interest and have our proof."

John sputtered on his potatoes. "I'm not using Polyjuice potion to be a bloody girl! Have you lost your mind?"

Sherlock gave him a look. "Oh, so you are not interested in helping mend your sister's broken heart?"

He narrowed his eyes. "Where did you even get Polyjuice potion from?"

Sherlock smirked and considered the question. "Slughorn is a bit of a moron."

"Not that big of one."

"Lotty has always preferred me over Mycroft."

That got Mary to smirk. "You sent your house elf in to steal from Slughorn?"

Sherlock nodded. "I did. Successfully, I may add." He turned to John. "So, as soon as you finish stuffing your face with your weight in food, we will be transforming."

He scowled. "You've got to be bloody joking! And who is on your short list of girls?"

"Irene Adler and Janine Hawkins."

John just growled and pulled at his hair. "Do I want to know how you got their hair?"

Sherlock sipped his tea again, appearing rather put together. "No, I reckon you wouldn't."

"Or how you'll distract them?"

This time Mary jumped in, her voice cracking with laughter, "No, I reckon you wouldn't."

-o-o-

And that explained how Sherlock and John ended up as Irene and Janine, deep within the Slytherin dungeon. John's Janine was walking with tense shoulders and fists ready for a fight. Thankfully, Sherlock's Irene was far more convincing, as the pair both walked with an arrogant air that was hard to replicate.

Per Harriet's instructions, Sherlock knew to expect Jeremy in the common room within the next twenty minutes, so John had been instructed to keep busy. Looking as unnatural as possible, of course, John's Janine decided to pace in circles, staring at the fire place.

Sherlock's Irene had just opened her mouth to instruct John to stop his movements but halted at a familiar voice calling Irene's name. Sherlock tensed and turned around, meeting the brown gaze of James Moriarty.

"Just who I was looking for, Adler. Can we chat?" He asked, his voice softer than Sherlock was familiar with. He realized that perhaps Moriarty did have friends and wasn't an unnerving asshole to the lot as he was with Sherlock.

Sherlock glanced over at John before back at Moriarty. He nodded and proceeded to follow the boy to a set of sofas. He sat down and watched him expectantly.

"Yes?" Sherlock asked, the husky voice of Irene escaping his lips, causing him a brief second of surprise.

James smirked. "I have a plan. It's bloody brilliant. I know you'll especially love it."

Sherlock quirked an eyebrow and leaned closer to Moriarty. "A plan? Do elaborate."

"Well, it'll be a bit more hands-on than our first approach. It's exactly up your alley."

Sherlock held in a groan, frustrated by the lack of information. "Oh? How so?"

James opened his mouth to respond but stopped as a female curse and a masculine shout echoed through the common room. Sherlock glanced over to where John had been pacing, and immediately jumped to his feet at the sight.

Because laying on the floor, holding his crotch, was a withering Jeremy Hallstatt. John's Janine, all fists and angry eyes, stood over the shaking boy.

"You're a pig!" John squealed, fists waving in the air, "You're dating Harriet Watson yet you're coming onto me?"

Jeremy groaned from the ground. "You didn't have an issue with it last night when we shagged in a broom closet!"

"You're a sorry excuse for a man!" John's Janine aimed another kick at his midsection. Sherlock, in typical internal conflict, glanced between John's excited role-playing and Moriarty's amused gaze.

He desperately wanted to continue his conversation with James, but knew he needed to reel in John. He glanced back to Moriarty.

"I'm going to comfort Janine, but we'll finish this conversation later," He hurried over to the arguing couple, but stopped to glance at Moriarty once more, "But you and Hooper. Is that still happening this weekend?"

James, the bloody git, smirked. "It is."

Sherlock opened his mouth to respond but noticed John's long brown locks growing shorter by the minute. He cursed and grabbed John's arm, pulling him away from Jeremy.

"Janine! Stop acting like a child. We don't want Slughorn getting involved!"

And with that, he continued to shove John out of the room, ignoring his squealing protests about teaching the jackass a lesson. Jeremy, still on the floor, let out a groan.

"Merlin's beard! Here I thought it'd be Harry's brother kicking my arse, not bloody Janine!"

-o-o-

By dinner, the earlier events of the day had been wrapped up quite nicely. Sherlock and John were back to their masculine forms, Harriet was upset, albeit relieved to know the truth, and since Jeremy was too embarrassed to admit his shiner from a girl, he never brought up Janine, and the girl never knew what occurred.

Sherlock, however, was still analyzing every word of his conversation with James. Thankfully, the git was sitting at the Slytherin table, and Molly had rejoined her house. She was currently chatting with Mary, although Sherlock was so entrenched in his thoughts that he wasn't paying their conversation any bother.

"That's wonderful, Molly! Your first Hogsmeade date," Mary exclaimed, a toothy smile growing on her face, "And Jim is a cutie!"

Molly couldn't help but blush. "He's really sweet. We get on well."

John snorted at the words, to which Mary quickly stepped on his foot. He groaned and continued to eat, whereas Mary went back to chatting.

"Any place in mind?"

"The Three Broomsticks?"

Mary gasped and shook her head. "No! You have to go to Madam Puddifoot's," She leaned forward and grinned, "It's the most romantic place in Hogsmeade."

Sherlock had finally left the confides of his thoughts and began to listen to the mindless chatter of his two friends. He glanced over the rim of his teacup, his eyes locked on the brunette with sparkling brown eyes and a contagious smile.

"Oh, yes," Molly responded, continuing to nibble on her lip, "I considered Madam Puddifoot's but won't it be a bit too girly for Jim's liking?"

John's resounding "yes" was drowned by Mary's "no". The blonde sent her boyfriend a cautionary glare before looking back to Molly, her smile syrupy sweet.

"If you're happy, Jim will be happy. I say take him there!"

Molly sipped her pumpkin juice and sighed. "Truthfully, I'm a bit nervous. It'll be so intimidating—just the two of us all afternoon!"

Sherlock set his teacup down, albeit a bit harsher than intended. He looked at Molly, his fingers rattling anxiously against the tables of the Great Hall. She met his eyes and quickly looked away.

"Isn't that the purpose of a date?" Sherlock asked, the word 'date' escaping his lips with a sort of venom that had even John cringing.

Molly frowned. "Yes, but you know, sometimes dates can be a tad awkward if—"

He snorted. "No. I wouldn't know. I've never been on a date."

The table grew quiet, forcing John to hold in a desperate laugh (made a bit easier by Mary elbowing him in his side). Molly sighed and looked into her pumpkin juice, watching the bits of the fruit float in hopeless abandon.

"I'm not surprised, Sherlock. As you know, dealing with people isn't always easy. Especially someone you fancy."

Sherlock blinked a few times, registering her words.

 _Someone you fancy._

Mary noticed his buffering look and cleared her throat. "Enough about the date chat! Molly, let's go on a stroll later and talk about it, yeah? I can help you pick your outfit."

Molly glanced at Sherlock before back at her female friend. "Sounds like a plan!"

After filling his plate with another serving that could surely feed two first years, John looked to Molly expectantly.

"So, since you showed up wearing Slytherin colors last week, I expect to see you sporting some Gryffindor spirit on Sunday!" He announced, his pride seeping through every word.

Mary nodded excitedly. "You have to. I have loads you can borrow."

"Of course. Hufflepuff doesn't stand a chance!" Molly laughed and sipped her juice again, "Besides, I'll wear whatever to support my friends."

Sherlock's deep rumble of a voice slapped the smile off her lips.

"Is that why you actively rooted against me, Molly?"

His voice was raw, vulnerable, and more telling than any of his friends had ever heard from his lips. Mary glanced at John, holding her breath for another argument between the two Ravenclaws. However, Molly simply offered him a sad smile.

"You haven't proven to me that we are friends, Sherlock."

Molly rose to her feet and offered the two Gryffindors hushed goodbyes. She glanced at Sherlock and frowned before rushing out of the Great Hall. Mary and John exchanged another look before glancing over at Sherlock.

The boy shoved a forkful of potato in his mouth and scowled.

"I should have listened to Mycroft when I started here. I don't need friends."

That had Mary laughing. "Oh, Sherlock. Who are you trying to fool?"

He narrowed his eyes at the blonde. "Friendship only—"

"Offers support in your toughest of times, keeps you smiling, lets you have fun, prevents you from being lonely and oh, the list could go on!" Mary jumped to her feet and sent the curly-haired boy a glare.

"You, Sherlock Holmes, need to get your priorities together. You've already lost Molly. I have a higher tolerance for your bullshit than she does. But if you want to lose the rest of your friends, then by all means, keep acting the way you are!"

Mary sent him a warning look before storming off. In her wake, John sighed.

"You sure do well with women."

Sherlock snorted.

-o-o-

The following day had been uncommonly quiet for Sherlock. The lack of noise and activity was making the boy anxious. Molly was ignoring him, Mary was being short with him, and while he still had John's attention, he found that losing Mary's sharp tongue and Molly's calm smile was making him quite uneasy.

It didn't help that for virtually all his courses, he shared a desk with Molly. Her warmth was a comforting presence, but the smell of her strawberry shampoo and rose perfume was driving him crazy. He could feel her, and he could smell her, and he could bloody sense every time she tensed in frustration and shifted in concentration, but he couldn't actually approach her.

So, he was thankful when they finished the day in Potions class, only Slughorn's longwinded soliloquys to keep them from freedom. Today had been a rather boring lesson, as they had stuck to their textbooks instead of doing any hands-on potion making. Sherlock absolutely hated these days but was pleased about the lack of clean up.

The students were packing up their bags and beginning to fill the room with chatter when Slughorn waved his hands, a bright smile beaming on his face. At the clearing of his throat, the class stopped talking and turned to their Professor.

"Splendid class! Before you head out, I need a few of you to stay behind. Anderson, Holmes, Hooper, and Moriarty, stop by my desk before you leave! Have a wonderful day my lovelies!"

Sherlock sighed and grabbed his bag, ignoring the excited murmurs of his fellow classmates. He didn't see why the announcement was being discussed. Everyone knew it was Slughorn's way of indiscreetly letting the rest of his students know who his shining stars were. The old coot thought himself clever by not announcing why he wanted to see the four—of course the club was so renowned and anticipated that even a first year would have recognized the purpose of the declaration.

He found himself standing to the edge of Slughorn's desk, taking in his fellow sixth-years. Molly was bashfully hugging a potions text book to her stomach. Moriarty was leaning against a desk, a smirk across his lips like he had just defeated a bloody dragon. And Anderson, who was bouncing on his toes so much that Sherlock was afraid his Quidditch captain might go through the floor.

 _How in Merlin's name did Anderson get an invite?_

Slughorn looked between the four young people in front of him, his eyes glowing with reverence, pride, and just a hint of self-satisfaction. The old man grinned and began to slowly clap his hands. While the other three watched with smiles, Sherlock tried desperately not to roll his eyes.

"Congrats! The four of you are my brightest students, and as a result, some of the most exciting minds Hogwarts has to offer! For this reason, I am extending an invitation for a get together in my quarters next Saturday," Slughorn beamed and gave each student a heartfelt look before continuing, "It would mean the world to me if you could make it. A nice celebration of autumn—and you can even bring a date!"

"Oh, Professor! I would be honored!" Anderson cried out, nodding his head excitedly, "You know, my father will be so thrilled! I'll send him an owl this evening!"

Slughorn quite literally glowed. "I imagine. Tell your father I say hello and would love to catch up."

Sherlock rolled his eyes and moved to leave, when Slughorn's voice stopped him. He turned to glance at his professor.

"I look forward to catching up with you as well, Sherlock! Mycroft always had lovely stories to share. I'm sure you're just as loquacious." Slughorn explained, a smile playing on his lips.

Sherlock held in a snort. "Of course, Professor. I eagerly await your dinner."

With that, he stormed out of the classroom, uninterested in watching Molly and Moriarty leave together, surely hand in hand.

-o-o-

"Bollocks! Absolutely bollocks!" Mary screeched, continuing to pace around the courtyard, "I should have been invited! I get higher marks than Anderson!"

John frowned and watched his girlfriend. "Come on, Mary. The entire club is ridiculous. It means nothing. Just ask Sherlock."

The couple glanced over to Sherlock, who carefully watched Molly and Moriarty chatting, all from behind a book on 15th Century Dragon Expeditions. John smacked his shoulder.

Sherlock cursed and looked back to his friends. "Yes, Slughorn's club is ridiculous. However, there are benefits from being a part of his network. He would certainly be more of an asset than a detriment."

Mary frowned and dropped to the ground. "How could he have picked Anderson over me?"

"He's dumb, that's why!" John exclaimed, "If he—"

Sherlock snorted. "Enough, John." He turned to Mary, "I'll be frank. Anderson's father is a high-ranking ministry official who also used to be in Slughorn's club. While your marks may be similar, Anderson just—"

Mary shook her head and crossed her arms, finishing his sentence for him. "Doesn't come from a line of petty criminals and shoddy wizards. He's nice, clean, pure-blood talent with a set ministry job after graduation."

Sherlock sighed. "Well, yes. But—"

"What is the club? Will you lot be fed fancy foods and forced to listen to him discuss his former students?" Mary asked, nibbling on her lip.

Sherlock shrugged. "I would assume so. That's how Mycroft always described it," He paused and considered the question, "Although Slughorn did mention an autumn party and that we could bring dates."

That got John to snort. "Oh, splendid! Well then, Sherlock, who will be your lucky lady?"

Sherlock narrowed his eyes. "Sod off, John. I have no issue attending alone."

"That will be rather awkward, especially if Molly and Jim are snogging in the corner."

Sherlock growled. "I don't—"

Mary perked up and grabbed Sherlock's arm. "I'll be your date!" She jumped to her feet and looked to the boy, "I'm smart. And I can be wonderful moral support, should Jim be a prat!"

John blinked a few times, looking between his girlfriend and best friend. "Mary! I'm your boyfriend!"

She rolled her eyes. "So? I'm not going to snog him. I just want to sit at that table and prove to Slughorn that he made a big mistake by not inviting me."

"But—"

"Yes."

The couple looked to Sherlock, one smiling, the other cursing. Mary pulled him into a hug and squealed.

"I'm going to be your best platonic date ever! We'll make you all handsome and show Molly and Slughorn what we're made of!" Mary squealed, ruffling his curls in the process.

Sherlock cursed and pulled away, desperately trying to tame his curls. He opened his mouth to respond but was distracted by a rather loud argument between two students walking towards the group.

"You're so bloody persistent!" Sally screeched, hugging her red jumper to her thin frame, "I'm not interested!"

Anderson chased after her, his black hair falling into his eyes with every move he made. "Oh, come on Sally! Why won't you just give me a chance? I'm asking for one date!"

Sally stopped in front of Sherlock and pointed at the boy. "Anderson, you see Holmes over here? He's a freak. And I would still give him a chance before giving you one!"

She continued her pace, disappearing through the stone arches. Anderson groaned and continued after her, muttering to himself about Sherlock always getting what he wanted. As soon as the two disappeared, Mary broke into desperate giggles.

"The poor sod!" She cried out, joyful tears streaming down her face, "If only you heard the things Sally said about him!"

Sherlock scoffed and crossed his arms. "Not interested."

Mary opened her mouth to respond, but instead smiled when Molly and Jim walked by the group, holding hands. Molly blushed and gave the girl a wave, before disappearing back into the school with the Slytherin boy. Sherlock scowled and looked away.

The blonde giggled. "Tell me how you really feel, Sherlock."

He narrowed his eyes. "I'm bringing you as my date. Don't anger me, Mary."

Mary laughed and laid back on the grass, her eyes focusing on the blue skies. "That reminds me. Molly and I were chatting about her date earlier. As expected, Jim was fine going to Madam Puddifoot's. I knew she was getting all worked up over nothing."

John snorted and looked down at his girlfriend, although his eyes glowed in admiration. "I don't envy him. What an awful, pink place."

Mary leaned up and captured his lips in a kiss. "I happen to think it's romantic. I was thinking we'd even join them."

"No—"

"Yes!"

The couple looked over to Sherlock, who was carefully watching Anderson and Sally argue, Sally's war path heading back towards the school. Mary followed his gaze and smirked.

"Oh, Sherlock Holmes, I have a feeling you have a naughty idea." Mary offered, her eyes glowing mischievously.

"You two would be the ideal option, but I need to be there." Sherlock explained, looking between his desperate roommate and two best friends.

Mary nodded enthusiastically. "I understand. John would muck it up too."

John scoffed and waved his hands. "What are you two even talking about? And why am I being trashed in the process?"

Sherlock and Mary shared a look, to which she smirked. "Exactly. So, what's the plan?"

"Simple. You get her hair. I get his. John entertains the two."

"Entertains who? What in God's name are you talking about?!"

"Won't people talk?" Mary asked, rubbing John's back to get her boyfriend to calm down.

Sherlock shook his head. "We'll change right near the tea shop. We'll be careful. Only the other two will know. And neither will bring it up—they aren't exactly friends."

"Good point. Saturday should be fun, Sherlock."

John groaned and pulled at his hair. "Will someone tell me what is going on?"

-o-o-

A few days later, Mary and Sherlock stood behind Madame Puddifoot's, clad in jeans and their respective houses' jumpers. She was extremely excited for a bit of adventure but was aware of the simmering concern oozing from Sherlock. She knew how jealous her friend was and had already come up with a few methods of damage control should the morning take a turn for the worse.

Removing two small vials from his pocket, Sherlock leaned against the wall, hiding his nerves with his usual air of indifference. He blew a loose curl away from his eyes and turned to his friend.

"Her hair?" He asked, before fishing out another vial with a single lock of black hair from his own jacket.

Mary dutifully handed him a vial with a lock of long, curly brown hair. Sherlock carefully dropped a hair in each vial, before looking to his companion.

"We eavesdrop. We argue. We ruin the date. Understood?" Sherlock glanced into the vial, shivering in disgust at the smell of the potion.

She sighed. "About that. I support eavesdropping, Sherlock. But ruining? Molly likes him. Do you really want to ruin their date?"

He narrowed his eyes. "Yes."

Mary groaned and grabbed a vial from his hands. "Fine. I hope for your sake that John has those two under control."

"He will. Both will be working obediently on the fake assignments we gave them. Should either stray, John has instruction."

She quirked an eyebrow. "Do I want to know?"

"Perhaps not. Just be happy you won't be in your bedroom should we need to use Plan B."

Mary groaned and uncapped the vial. "Well, drink away!"

Together, they eyed the potion with trepidation, before each taking a gulp. As the thick liquid met their lips, they grabbed onto the stone exterior of the building, letting out desperate cries and squirming in discomfort. Before each other's eyes, their bodies began to change, their hair darkening, their eyes shifting, their heights shrinking.

Finally, as if the earth stopped moving, they met each other's gaze. Sherlock touched his oily locks and shivered in disgust. Mary palmed her curly hair and giggled.

"Tell me I'm beautiful."

Sherlock groaned. "Sally, you're beautiful. Thanks for agreeing to come on this date with me."

Mary laughed and touched his arm. "Oh, Phillip, you wore me down!"

-o-o-

 _I think I've had this nightmare before. Waking up as Anderson, on a date with Sally Donovan._

Sherlock shivered in disgust and sipped his tea, immediately cringing as the overly floral house blend met his taste buds. Mary, hidden behind the dark gaze of Donovan, gave him a look. She bit into her scone and smiled.

Both carefully glanced over to the booth only meters away from them, where Molly and Jim sat. Sherlock watched her grab the sugar, giggling at something Jim said.

 _Two spoonfuls._

"You look really beautiful," Jim offered, watching his date over his tea cup, "I really like the jumper."

Molly turned a deep shade of red. "Really? I mean, thank you!" She bit her lip and glanced at the topic of conversation, "I made it myself. My grandmum taught me."

"Oh? The muggle way?"

She nodded. "I much prefer that way, truthfully. I don't feel like I'm taking the easy way out."

Sherlock scowled and sipped his tea. He glanced at Mary and opened his mouth to speak, but she quickly cut him off.

"Oh, Phillip, the way you saved Sherlock at the match last weekend was just so valiant!" Mary cried, leaning over the table, to grasp his hand, "It was incredible."

Sherlock cleared his throat and nodded quickly. "Yes, I suppose it rather was. I am the captain. It's my duty to support my team."

He was never surprised by Mary's cleverness. The girl had somehow discovered the topic of conversation that would surely peak both Molly and Moriarty's interests—the Quidditch match from the previous week. He glanced over his shoulder and hid a smirk, noticing that the couple was clearly listening, albeit going over their menus with a pretend fascination.

"It was more than incredible. Inspiring. And you lot are so good! I mean, Sherlock has to be the school's best seeker," She paused to smirk, "Behind Mary Morstan, of course."

Sherlock couldn't help but narrow his eyes. However, before he could even give a playful retort, Moriarty's big head couldn't help but wiggle its way into the conversation.

"Now, now, Donovan. Let's not get ahead of ourselves," Jim offered, a polite grin across his lips, "Sherlock had a lucky game."

Sherlock snorted and desperately reminded himself that he wasn't, well, himself. "Sherlock is a great player. And, if I recall," he narrowed his eyes at the boy, "Beat you to the snitch."

Mary nodded vigorously. "He did. And then Phillip," She grabbed Sherlock's hand, "Caught him in a valiant display of sportsmanship!"

Moriarty sputtered. "Beat me? The fool jumped off his broom and injured Charles! He did it on purpose! We shouldn't be celebrating that. We should be bloody suspending him!"

 _Remain calm. Do not engage._

Sherlock took a steadying breath and opened his mouth to respond. However, Molly's soft voice froze his nerves and stole his attention.

And the oxygen from his lungs.

"Oh, Jim, that's a bit harsh," She explained softly, holding her tea cup to keep herself distracted, "I admit that Sherlock was a bit… rash. But he doesn't deserve to be suspended."

Moriarty scoffed. "Molly, he purposely took Charles out!"

She shook her head adamantly. "That was an accident. The goal of the game is to catch the snitch, is it not? So, he did that. And Sherlock is clever but… Obviously he couldn't anticipate Phillip catching him."

She looked to Sherlock and smiled. "Sally is right, Phillip. You were quite valiant out there. Had you not caught him…" She looked back to Jim and sighed, "Well, then he surely would have gotten just as hurt as Charles is now."

Sherlock swallowed, ignoring the flushing of his cheeks. "Thank you, Molly. That was nice."

Jim rolled his eyes and waved the server over, clearly finished with the conversation. As the other couple began to place their orders, Mary leaned over to Sherlock, her grin unnatural on Sally's normally unhappy face.

"She stood up for you! That's a start!" She whispered, squeezing his hand, "We're making progress!"

Sherlock gulped and sipped his tea. "Yes. Progress."

And so, Sherlock and Mary listened to rather painfully dull conversations about Molly's muggle hobbies and Moriarty's perfect, pureblood upbringing. Sherlock was strategizing their next move when Moriarty made the job simple.

"I was hoping that you would accompany me to Slughorn's party. I thought we could arrive together," Jim explained, adding another scoop of jam to his scone, "The evening will be painful, but I know you'll make it fun."

Molly blushed and bit her lip. "I'd love—"

Sherlock leaned over and grinned at the couple. "Are you talking about Slughorn's party? Exciting, isn't it? We're the best of his students!"

Jim narrowed his eyes. "Right. I reckon we're looking forward to it." He glanced over to Molly, who gave him a soft smile and nod.

"Rumor has it that he'll be bringing some famous past students!" Sherlock added, moving close enough to the couple that he practically sat at their table, "Any idea who he'll bring?"

Moriarty sighed. "Look, Anderson, I don't—"

Mary smirked. "Oh, there's loads he could bring! Perhaps someone from the Ministry?"

"Oh! Would he get Harry Potter to drop by?" Sherlock announced, a painful grin spreading across his lips.

"Oh, for Merlin's sake," Moriarty groaned, "Why would Harry Potter, the most famous bloke in all of the wizarding world, show up to Slughorn's autumn party?"

Sherlock shrugged. "Why not?"

"Are you stupid—"

Molly's soft laugh silenced the group. "I think it would be unlikely for Harry Potter to show up, but could you imagine?" She smiled and looked to her tea, "I've always wanted to meet Hermione Granger. She's so incredible. I strive to be like her," her voice was wistful, dreamy, "If only."

 _Sad._

Sherlock stared at Molly, blinking a few times. While Molly wasn't defeating dark magic, she was still incredibly intelligent and brave.

 _She must know that._

"Well!" Mary jumped in, giving Sherlock a look, "It'll be fun regardless. I'm jealous that you lot all get to go!"

Moriarty grumbled to himself and sipped his tea, seemingly accepting that his date had been infiltrated by a neurotic Ravenclaw and a take-no-shit Gryffindor.

Molly looked between the other couple in confusion. "You aren't coming?" She asked, curious.

"I wasn't invited," Mary explained, "I don't think Slughorn cares for me!"

Molly glanced at Sherlock before back to Mary. "Well, surely Phillip can bring you, can't he?"

"Oh!" Mary gasped in fake excitement and grinned at Sherlock, "What an idea! Phillip, I can accompany you!"

Looking between Molly's hopeful gaze ( _what a hopeless romantic_ ) and Mary's entertained smirk, he knew he had the perfect opening for their planned argument. Sherlock cleared his throat and shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

"Accompany me?"

"Yes, as your date!" Mary glanced at Molly, "Would that be alright?"

She smiled and nodded. "Slughorn said we could bring dates."

Sherlock bit his lip. "About that…"

Mary desperately tried to fight back a smirk. "About what? Do you not want me to be your date, Phillip?"

"I'm bringing someone else!" Sherlock announced, slamming his fists on the table in the process, "You made it seem like you didn't fancy me, Sally!"

Molly covered her mouth and slid lower into her chair, clearly embarrassed for starting the row. She whimpered and forced herself to watch the fallout.

"Who are you bringing?" Mary screeched, jumping to her feet, "Who could possibly be a better choice than me?"

Sherlock stuck his chin up. "Melissa Howard."

"You prat!" Mary squealed, reaching to grab her tea cup, "How dare you bring me here and then court another girl at the same time!"

"You gave me no choice." Sherlock announced, looking bored, "You kept rejecting my advances—"

Mary dumped her lukewarm tea onto the boy, grinning as he sputtered in surprise. She grabbed her handbag and turned on her heels.

"Molly, all men are pigs. Watch out for this one," She motioned to Moriarty and stuck her chin up, before storming out of the café.

Moriarty and Molly looked to Sherlock, who calmly dabbed at his damp attire. He sighed and glanced over at the couple.

"Thanks for running my date!" He hissed, rising to his feet.

Molly frowned and began to play with her hands. "I'm so sorry, Phillip. I just thought—"

He shook his head and crossed his arms. "Do me a favor and never bring this up again."

With his shoulders held high, he stormed out the café and hurried to the back, his eyes landing on a hunched over Mary. She met his gaze and burst into a fit of giggles.

"I've always wanted to dump tea on you!" She gasped out, continuing to laugh, "Oh, what a dream come true today was!"

Sherlock narrowed his gaze. "Ha ha. What a success."

Mary stood up and gave him a curious look. "What's wrong with you? I'd say we certainly prevented the date from going to plan."

He sighed and crossed his arms. Unfortunately, all he could think about was the frown on Molly's lips as she apologized to another classmate. A frown that he inadvertently caused.

 _Bloody sentiment._

"I'm afraid I may have truly upset her. She thinks she just damaged two people's happiness."

Mary gave him a look. "Too late for that now, isn't it?"

She rubbed Sherlock's shoulder and smiled softly. "Don't worry about it. Once she sees Anderson with Melissa, and Sally fawning over Greg, she's not going to think twice about today."

He sighed and rubbed his eyes. "Right. That's true I suppose."

"So, Anderson and Howard?"

"Yes. They snogged at the party last weekend. While she can't stand him, the party will give her a chance to kiss up to Slughorn, especially since she's failing potions. I anticipate Anderson asking her tonight."

"How can you be so sure?"

"He asked me who he should ask before bed yesterday evening. I suggested Melissa and he agreed."

Mary just smirked. "You're too clever for your own good, Sherlock."

The boy, who's curly haired was finally turning back to normal, glanced at the main street, he and Mary still hidden behind the building. His eyes met Molly and Moriarty, who had just left the café. They headed back towards the school, their bodies shaking in laughter, their hands intertwined.

"Not clever enough."

-o-o-

When Sunday arrived, the castle was back to its normal, excited air, students milling about and preparing for the Quidditch match. Truthfully, Sherlock wished he was playing that afternoon. The cold air slapping his cheeks and the adrenaline pumping through his veins would be a welcome distraction from the thoughts pounding about in his head.

It would likely be a lonely afternoon, too. With John and Mary on the pitch, and Molly virtually ignoring him, he knew he'd likely watch the game in silence. While Anderson had invited the Ravenclaw team to watch as a group, no one really wanted to sit through an entire match with their neurotic captain, screaming to watch how Gryffindor, their next opponent, played.

Besides, Sherlock didn't need to watch Mary to know how the girl played. He had been studying her for years. Beating her to the snitch would be a piece of cake.

Deciding to cut his losses and sit next to the least annoying of his teammates, Sherlock dropped down beside Mike Stamford. The boy glanced at him before looking back at the pitch.

"I want to watch the match in peace, Holmes. Please don't pull an Anderson and start screaming about their flying techniques." Mike groaned out.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Does that seem like something I would do?"

Mike looked to him and back at the pitch. "No, of course not. But the request stands."

The boys focused on the match, their bubble of silence in stark contrast to the rest of the roaring crowd. Gryffindor had taken an early lead, thanks to some excellent goals by John. Mary was whizzing around, likely confusing the hell out of Hufflepuff's seeker, Tom Ackerman. Greg Lestrade had just sent an excellently brutal bludger towards Hufflepuff chaser Nicholas Pratt when Sherlock felt a presence beside him.

At the sight of Molly, clad in one of Mary's Gryffindor jumpers, he let out a shaky breath. Under his gaze, she flushed a deep red and looked towards the stands. They sat in silence, until Stamford opened his big mouth.

"Oh, would you look at that? Hooper has come back to us! I'm surprised you're not wearing a Slytherin jumper right about now!" He spat out, eying the girl with contempt.

Molly sighed and hugged her body, not bothering to look at Stamford. "Mike, I wore Slytherin colors to support my boyfriend. Now I'm wearing Gryffindor colors to support my friends."

Stamford scowled and focused on the pitch. "Well, then. Why aren't you with your precious boyfriend?"

"They're watching the match as a team. They play Hufflepuff next."

He opened his mouth to respond with something likely scathing about their previous opponents but was silenced by the appearance of a redheaded Hufflepuff girl. She giggled and motioned for him to join her. Without missing a beat, he jumped to his feet and ran after her, looking quite like Filch to Mrs. Norris on any given day.

Once he disappeared, Molly sighed and began to play with the end of her pleat, her eyes on the match. She glanced at Sherlock before back at the pitch. With a nibble on her lip, she took a deep breath.

"Mike can be—"

Sherlock was quick to interrupt her. "Boyfriend. That's what Moriarty is now?"

Molly glanced down at her nails, before looking back to the pitch as the crowd went wild. John had just made another excellent goal and was making quite the show out of Hufflepuff's inexperienced keeper. Sherlock studied her, uninterested with John's performance.

"I… Well I…" Molly swallowed and pulled at her pleat, "We haven't really discussed it, but it certainly seems like we're boyfriend and girlfriend."

Sherlock tensed and nodded. "I hope you're happy."

She frowned but nodded. "I am. He treats me well. We get along nicely. And he's—"

"A bit of arsehole, brown-noser if you ask me," Sherlock interjected, now focused on the pitch, specifically Mary's excellent tailing of the snitch, "And I think someone like that would only take advantage of someone like you."

Molly turned on the bench, now fully facing Sherlock. She smacked his arm. "Someone like me? What in Merlin's name does that mean, Sherlock?"

He scowled and looked back to her, internally cursing himself for beginning the conversation right as Mary had located the snitch.

"Molly, you're very kind. Nice. You mean well. Someone as manipulative as Moriarty is only going to use—"

She jumped to her feet and crossed her arms, glaring down at the boy. He bit his lip, now completely unable to see the pitch, only notified of the action by the squeals and cheers of the crowd.

"Jim manipulative? That's rich coming from you!"

Sherlock blinked and stared at her. "I don't follow—"

"Of course, you don't! Sherlock, for years you've manipulated me! You can't possibly think I don't know why you befriended me?"

He tensed and raised an eyebrow. "Molly—"

"I know all about your friendship trials! I know that you settled on me because I was sweet, passive little Molly that would listen to every word out of your mouth. I know that I was picked simply because you _had_ to pick someone."

He cleared his throat. "Molly, that isn't—"

Molly hugged herself and shook her head aggressively. "All I've ever been to you is a paper weight at the other side of your desk. A pet to listen to your brilliant ideas. A study mate to prevent you from feeling lonely. A—"

Sherlock cursed and jumped to his feet. "Molly, would you just—"

Their conversation was drowned out by the screams of the crowd and the whistle of Madam Hooch ending the match. He cursed and ran a hand through his curls, frustrated by missing the conclusion of the match. Frustrated by Molly. Frustrated by everything.

"Look, Molly, I—"

"Sherlock—"

"Gryffindor wins! Sixth-year Mary Morstan has caught the snitch! I repeat, Gryffindor defeats Hufflepuff 210 to 30!"

Sherlock reached to grab her arm but was pushed away by the crowd of students rushing towards the pitch. With a curse, he watched her petite form disappear, along with the oxygen in his lungs.

 _It certainly seems like we're boyfriend and girlfriend._

-o-o-

A week later, Sherlock stood in the Ravenclaw common room, a creamy substance of questionable origin being smothered into his hair by Mary. The blonde smirked and began to tame his curls, quickly ordering John to hand her a comb.

She worked on his curly locks for a few moments before jumping back. As she wiped her sticky hands on a towel, she glanced over to her boyfriend.

"Looks good, doesn't it?" She asked, her cheeks beaming in pride.

John laughed and nodded. "Poor sod is cringing at the use of muggle product!"

Sherlock scowled and went to touch his hair but was quickly scolded not to by the duo. He groaned and crossed his arms. Mary appeased him and held up a mirror, watching with a smirk as he admired himself.

He raised an eyebrow, his eyes locked on his form. "Wow… What is this stuff?"

Mary laughed. "Hair mousse. Used by many muggle men."

John fixed Sherlock's tie and smirked. "Mary, darling, I think he's ready!" He turned to his girlfriend and admired her form fitting pink dress, "You're ready too."

His girlfriend leaned forward and pressed a kiss to his lips. "Oh, knock the pout off, John! We'd bring you if we could."

Sherlock fixed his cuffs and smirked. "Don't worry, John. I won't snog your girlfriend."

"I'm not worried," the Gryffindor announced, patting Sherlock's chest with a smirk, "Not like you'd know how, anyways."

Mary laughed and linked her arm with Sherlock's. She gave her boyfriend a look. "Behave, John. I'm going as moral support."

The shorter man snorted. "Oh, please! Any discomfort he feels tonight is his own doing!"

She considered his words. "As true as that may be, it's my responsibility to help mend his broken heart."

"Sherlock doesn't have a heart to be mended!"

The topic of conversation rolled his eyes. "I'm right here, lovebirds. Perhaps discuss this at a later time?"

John rolled his eyes. "Now you know how I feel when you two talk about me!"

Sherlock and Mary glanced at each other before erupting into a fit of laughter. John groaned and crossed his arms.

"Yes, very funny. Now go before I don't allow Mary to join!"

His girlfriend laughed and ruffled his hair. After pressing a soft kiss to his lips, she smirked. "Oh, John, as if you could stop me."

With a wink, she sauntered out of the common room. Sherlock glanced at his best mate.

"I won't make a move on Mary. She's not my type."

John rolled his eyes. "No worries, Sherlock. I wasn't exactly worried."

"However, I can't promise that she won't make a move on me."

John scowled. "Go!"

Sherlock smirked and skipped out of the room, ready to meet his date. John rolled his eyes and dropped to a chair, considering his evening without his best friend or his girlfriend. He had decided on a nap when a second-year student entered the common room and promptly informed John that he was still in the Ravenclaw tower.

The boy groaned and trudged on, ready to return to his own quarters.

-o-o-

Not much later, Sherlock and Mary found themselves in Slughorn's wing of the castle, a comfortable space with elegant decorations. Touches of his prized possessions littered the room, with an endless array of surfaces and walls covered with photographs, ticket stubs, and other memorabilia of his former students.

And, in typical Slughorn fashion, a large photo of him and Harry Potter hung on the wall, front and center for everyone to see. Mary approached the picture and smirked before glancing over to Sherlock.

"Take a look at this. Poor Potter looks so uncomfortable!" Mary laughed.

Sherlock, however, was not paying attention. His gaze had settled on a bookshelf, filled with photos of Slughorn and an array of previous students. Based on his knowledge of alumni, this was Slughorn's 'Ministry' section—all the students that had ended up working for the Minister after Hogwarts.

And as expected, one pompous smile stared back at Sherlock. At the sound of his growl, Mary wandered over and looked at the same photograph. She laughed again.

"Mycroft has lost a lot of hair since school, hasn't he?" She asked, trying to lighten the tension.

Sherlock rolled his eyes and turned his back to the photograph. "He has. My, how he must have loved these events!" He turned on his heels to face Mary, a lingering taste of disgust in his mouth, "So it would only be just that I loathe them."

Mary sighed. "Sherlock, darling, give it a chance. You might have fun." At Sherlock's look, she groaned and continued, "Or maybe the food will be good?"

With a shrug, the couple continued wandering around the quarters, Mary forcing Sherlock to chat with some returning students and the occasional seventh-year. For once, Sherlock was thankful for Mary's talkative demeanor. It made social events, such as these horrid things, far more bearable.

The two had just finished a rather one-sided conversation with an eager Herbologist now located in Edinburgh when Molly and Moriarty strolled in, holding hands. Sherlock took one look at the couple and scowled. The git was dressed in a fine muggle jacket, his emerald tie stark against the crisp white of his shirt. Molly, however, looked positively delicious, clad in a figure-hugging sapphire colored velvet dress.

Sherlock gulped and pulled at his collar.

 _Why has the room suddenly become so hot?_

From beside him, Mary elbowed his side and smirked. "Wow. Molly looks brilliant. I didn't know she had an arse like that!"

He flinched at her words. "She…"

Mary smirked. "Looks bloody hot."

Sherlock turned to look at his date. He hissed. "Cut it out. We're with mixed company."

"Yeah, well, someone had to say it!" She leaned closer to the boy and smirked, "You know, if you don't tell her how good she looks, Jim will."

He growled. "Don't piss me off, Mary."

Mary pulled away from her date and met Molly's gaze. The brunette squealed and hurried over, pulling Mary into a hug. In typical teenage girl fashion, they broke into a fit of giggles as they evaluated each other's outfits.

"I didn't know you were coming, Mary!" Molly announced, a grin spreading across her features, "I'm so glad you're here!"

Mary nodded and smirked at Sherlock, who stood awkwardly to the side, watching the reunion. "Yes, well, Sherlock was kind enough to invite me as his friend date."

Molly glanced over at Sherlock. He met her gaze and cleared his throat, quickly looking away in a desperate bid to hide how red his cheeks were turning. Molly herself wasn't immune, immediately noticing how impeccably dressed the boy looked. Not to mention, his tamed hair.

"Your hair…" Molly choked out, blushing something fierce.

Sherlock cleared his throat and looked away. "Mary insisted. I realize it's a bit—"

"It's nice!" Molly quickly interrupted, biting down on her lip, "I like it."

He gulped and nodded. "Well. Thank you. You look…" He shifted side to side, willing his brain to generate a word, "Healthy."

Molly raised an eyebrow. "Healthy?"

Mary smirked and grabbed her arm. "I think Sherlock was trying to pick between fit, gorgeous, beautiful, and lovely. Which you look!" She looked over the girl and squealed, "I didn't know you had an arse like that!"

"Stop it!" Molly laughed, her face going a deeper shade of red, "My mum bought me the dress. I never had a reason to wear it until now."

"Well, you certainly are wearing that dress." Mary looked around, watching as Jim approached the girls with two cups of punch, "Your newest toy is approaching. He's such a cutie."

Molly blushed and glanced at Jim before back at Mary. "He's wonderful."

Mary looked back at Sherlock, who was intently watching Jim's approach. She grabbed his arm and began to move away. "Well, Sherlock and I should say hello to Slughorn! We'll chat later, Molls!"

Following Mary's forcible lead, Sherlock ended up against a back wall of the space, now given a perfect view of the festivities. He glanced around the room, noticing the overeager alumni, the job-hungry seventh-years, the half-sloshed faculty members, and the handful of miserable students who had been recruited to serve the food.

Mary sighed happily and looked to her friend. "Have you tried the food yet? I keep grabbing little things off the trays and they're marvelous!"

Sherlock didn't much feel like eating. Not when everywhere he went, he seemed to find Molly and Jim, laughing and holding each other. If anything, his body was ready to reject his lunch, not be filled with more food.

"She now refers to Moriarty as her boyfriend." He said, his eyes locked on Molly's dancing form.

Mary bit her lip and rubbed his back. "Okay. That's a minor setback, love. She doesn't have a bloody ring on her finger. You just need to pull your head out of your arse."

He scowled. "She accused me of manipulating her. She said I only befriended her because I had to."

"Well, you have previously said—"

He narrowed his eyes at his date. "Yes, when I was a first year, I did strive to make one acquaintance in Ravenclaw because I felt I had to. But, had I not tolerated anyone enough, I simply would have abandoned the endeavor." He cursed and went to pull at his curls but dropped his hand when he realized the mousse wouldn't allow it.

"I befriended Molly because I liked her," He whispered, his eyes following every movement of the carefree girl, "She was kind, and intelligent, and she…" he sighed and rubbed at his eyes, "She understood me in ways that few people did."

Mary smacked his arm, to which Sherlock jumped back and gave her a glare. "Then tell her that you ignorant fool!"

He scowled and rubbed his arm. "She rarely talks to me. And when we do, we end up fighting, normally because of something I said."

She rolled her eyes. "Always because of something you said."

"I take—"

Slughorn's loud voice echoed through the space, his towering form lurking in the middle of the room. Dressed in some of his finest robes, the potions professor had a brilliant grin spread across his wrinkled face. As he motioned for everyone to move toward him, he took a hardy sip of his glass, admiring his approaching collection of students.

Once satisfied with the proximity, he set his glass down and let out a delighted laugh.

"I'm so happy everyone could make it!" He announced, clasping his hands together in a sort of reverence that made Sherlock sick, "I live for the movements when my past and present students can intermingle! So many wonderful minds are in this very room!"

He retrieved his glass and took a sloppy sip, before giving the crowd a toothy grin. "I look forward to chatting with everyone! Enjoy your evening!"

As everyone began to disperse, Sherlock let out a soft curse as Anderson approached, tugging along a rather bored looking Melissa Howard. Knowing there was nowhere he could escape, he moved closer to Mary, hoping she'd alleviate some of the pain that conversations with Anderson usually induced.

"Isn't this marvelous?" The boy cried out, waving his hands in excitement, "The old Slug really went all out for this one!"

Sherlock held in a rude retort and forced a smile. "He did. It was…" he looked at Mary, hoping for help. At her smirk, he groaned and continued, "Nice of him to do this."

Anderson nodded excitedly. "I'll say! Rumor has it that his Christmas party is his best one—but his autumn party is already mad!"

"Yes. It's quite… mad." Sherlock looked to Mary, desperate for her help, but she still smirked on, pretending to admire some of the photographs hanging on the wall.

Sherlock got a momentary reprieve as Molly and Moriarty walked by. Anderson let out a quick greeting, offering Molly a wave and Moriarty a polite look of indifference. However, the couple eyed the poor boy with trepidation, their gaze flickering between his date and himself.

"Hiya, Molly! Nice dress!" Anderson announced, his face all smiles.

Molly swallowed and bit her lip, looking between the boy and his date. "Uh, hi Phillip. You're not mad at—"

And finally, Mary jumped in. "Anderson! I'm certain you watched our match last weekend—would you like me to give you some insights into Hufflepuff?"

The Quidditch captain beamed. "Oh, please! I have some notes on Slytherin I'd be happy to pass on."

Mary smirked at Sherlock before leading Anderson away, nodding animatedly as the boy talked her ear off. His date blew out a desperate breath and hurried to another group of girls. Sherlock, however, remained standing with Molly and Moriarty. He met the girl's gaze before quickly looking away.

Molly looked at the boy and frowned. With a deep breath, she glanced at her boyfriend and fiddled with the hem of her dress. "I'm going to run to the loo!"

Jim smiled and kissed her cheek. "I'll be waiting."

Molly ran off, leaving Jim and Sherlock to watch her disappearing form. At her absence, Sherlock let out a terse breath and stepped away, but halted as Moriarty followed his movements. He met the boy's gaze and narrowed his eyes.

"Holmes."

"Moriarty."

"I feel for you, really. Must be painful to watch us together. Knowing I have something that you could have had." Moriarty's smile was venom coated in sugar.

Sherlock tensed at his words. "Molly is one of my closest friends and—"

"Is she now? I rarely see you two talking anymore. I get the sense that you pushed her away." He smirked and took a step towards Sherlock, "I reckon you aren't too good with other people."

"Molly is—"

Sherlock's words were interrupted as Slughorn approached, a joyful smile across his lips. He grinned at the boys and placed a hand on each of their backs.

"My, look! It's two of my brightest young men!" He grinned at Jim and squeezed his shoulder, "What a catch you are, James! I'm thrilled you're in my house. You're looking like a brilliant candidate to be Head Boy next year!"

At his words, Sherlock's eyes shot open. Moriarty met his gaze and smirked, before taking a step away from the older man. He offered Slughorn a smile.

"Wow, thank you Professor! That means so much coming from you," He took another step away, but continued to grin, "I told Eric Radner that I'd return to chat about Ministry opportunities after school, but I'd love to hear more about your evening afterwards!"

Slughorn gasped. "Oh, please! Eric is a wonderful man, truly brilliant. You would make an excellent additional to the ministry!"

The git smirked. "I hope so. I'll see you soon, Professor!"

Sherlock narrowed his eyes and watched as Moriarty disappeared, although not in the direction of the ministry group. He continued to watch the boy's movements, his fists clenched at his sides. Slughorn, per usual, was oblivious, and continued to babble.

"And you, Sherlock, what a wonderful addition to the classroom! Mycroft was such a pleasure, so when I discovered another Holmes boy, I was intrigued!" Slughorn laughed and sipped his drink, before continuing, "Although, I was concerned after some of Mycroft's warnings."

Sherlock had barely processed Slughorn's words, instead busily watching Moriarty move around the room, the git's eyes scanning every inch of the space. He was clearly looking for something, and it had the Ravenclaw on high alert. However, he was forced to glance towards Slughorn once the old man's words finally processed.

"Concerned?" He asked, meeting Slughorn's slightly intoxicated gaze.

"Yes!" He laughed, followed by a hardy sip, "Mycroft had given me a few warnings about you. Said you were hard to deal with, stubborn, not as intelligent as him," He waved his hand with a grin, "But I've been pleasantly surprised!"

 _That bastard._

Sherlock blinked a few times, processing his professor's words. "Mycroft said that about me?"

The old man laughed, although realization slowly crossed his features. "Oh, well, I suppose I wasn't meant to share that…" He cursed softly and offered Sherlock a polite smile, "But it was years ago! And again, you've been a fine addition to the classroom."

Sherlock clenched his fists. "Thanks, Professor."

"And I dare say you'll make a lovely addition to Ministry!"

He forced a smile. "Of course. Thank you for the invite to dinner."

Slughorn nodded eagerly, although his features fell. "But, Sherlock, Mary Morstan? Surely you can reach higher than that!"

Sherlock narrowed his eyes. "No, perhaps I can't. Mary is exceedingly bright and one of the finest witches of her age. It's a shame you didn't invite her to join your club."

His professor waved his hand. "She hadn't proved—"

"She won your vial of Felix Felicis."

Slughorn sipped his drink, sweat beading at his head. "Well, yes, but—"

At the sight of Moriarty exiting a pair of closed doors, Sherlock offered Slughorn a sugary sweet smile and stepped away. "Wonderful chat, Professor! Cheers!"

He hurried towards the boy, his mind on overdrive.

 _How_ _ **dare**_ _Mycroft._

 _How_ _ **dare**_ _Slughorn._

He had almost reached Moriarty, who was busy chatting up a still injured Charles Magnussen, when Mary grabbed onto his forearm. He whipped away to face the girl and scowled. Mary noticed his tense features and frowned.

"What's got you on edge?" She asked, her eyebrow quirked, "You should be all smiles after I had to listen to Anderson!"

Sherlock glanced back to Moriarty, who had rejoined Molly. He frowned and shook his head.

"I think I'd like to go now."

Mary sighed and nodded. "I figured you'd say that. Off we go then."

And as the blonde led him to the entry, Sherlock watched Moriarty and Molly, the two dancing and laughing. He couldn't understand how her smile could both ignite his senses and bleed him dry.

With one final look at James Moriarty, his biggest adversary, he let out a desperate breath.

 _Whatever you're up to Moriarty, I will find out._

 _And you will lose._

-o-o-

After being uncomfortably probed for information by John, and a failed attempt at coddling by Mary, Sherlock was as strung up as his violin. Even with his hair cleaned of the silly muggle product, and his body now clad his favorite house-colored pyjamas, he was still on high alert.

And while he desperately intended to analyze every word and movement of Moriarty's, instead his mind wandered back to was Molly. From her curled hair, to her chocolate eyes, to that velvet dress that he desperately wanted to run his hands along…

He cursed and squeezed his eyes shut. He could smell her rose perfume and practically taste her strawberry shampoo.

As he stared at the ceiling of his darkened bedroom, listening to the steady breathing of a sleeping Anderson, he knew denying himself would do nothing.

With a desperate sigh, he took himself into a hand, his mind filled with images of Molly.

 _Must be painful to watch us together. Knowing I have something that you could have had._

He growled and thrusted into his hand, desperate to banish Moriarty's voice from his deepest fantasies. The Molly of his dreams let out a throaty moan, the same delicious noises she had made in the prefect's bathtub.

He imagined his face buried in her smooth hair, his nostrils filling with the scent of strawberries and just Molly. He imagined his hands filled with soft velvet, and smooth skin, and a deliciously firm arse. He imagined her in his Quidditch locker room, in his bed, in the Ravenclaw common room, across a bloody table in the Great Hall—

He imagined Molly within their corner of the library, her face buried in a book as he thrusted into her from behind, his ears filling with desperate cries of his name—

With one final thought of her smiling form, he let out a cry and came onto his hand and sleep shirt. He groaned and began to clean up the mess, too distracted to hear the movement within his room.

Just as he had dealt with his soiled top, Anderson's voice filled his ears.

"Interesting. Didn't take you as one to wank! Thinking about Hooper, no less!"

Sherlock's growl quieted Anderson quite easily.

 _You really are human._

 _What a shame._

 **To be continued…**


	4. Amortentia

**NOTE:**

This chapter has some non-consensual elements. It is nothing overtly awful, but if that's something you don't feel comfortable reading, you may want to avoid this chapter.

-o-o-

Autumn was slowly shifting into winter, changing the grounds of Hogwarts from rich earthy tones of red, yellow, and orange, into a desolate field of dying grass and browning trees. If anything, the disappearance of the bright colors, or even the beautiful summer greenery, was a reminder of how difficult the year had been for Sherlock Holmes.

The sixth-year boy was currently tucked under his favorite tree, his eyes scanning over the crisp pages of a muggle mystery novel. He had received the book as a present from Molly the previous Christmas, and even though he had finished it in one sitting last December, he found himself inexplicably redrawn to the book. Sure, the book wasn't as thrilling the second time around, especially now that he knew O'Shaughnessy had double-crossed Spade, but with a free Saturday afternoon, the words were a comfort to him.

Because in the past, Molly had always been there, willing to open his eyes to a new world—the muggle world—a taboo place that he had scantily explored sans one painful holiday to muggle America, one that ended with his mother sobbing on what the Americans called "the subway". While his pure-blood parents frequently regarded muggle culture with sheer curiosity rather than disgust, the Holmes family had not attempted to explore the world after their fateful trip to New York (or one instance of his father fiddling with what the muggles called "cough drops"—the poor man thought it was a coughing equivalent to the hiccoughing potion—he was none too pleased with the cherry hard candy).

And so, it became that Molly was his link to the unknown world. She would send him muggle novels, and muggle music, and even what the muggles called "films"—a delightfully long moving picture that told a story. But, with an imagination like Sherlock's, he much preferred the books and music, two outlets that allowed him to fill in the gaps himself. Unfortunately, given his tumultuous year thus far with the Ravenclaw girl, his enjoyment of the other world was restricted to past gifts from his friend.

 _Is she your friend?_

He sighed and shut the book, leaning his head back against the cold bark of the tree. Today had been a rather lonely day. He finished Quidditch practice earlier in the day—the Gryffindor match was nearing close—and since that moment, he hadn't spoken a word to another person.

For some reason, and one that hadn't been made clear the curly-haired boy, John and Mary were in quite a nasty row. The previous evening, he had journeyed to the Gryffindor common room, eager to roam the castle after a new mystery had landed on his dinner plate. Someone had stolen a few illegal substances from Hagrid and based on the half-giant's frequent travels to Knockturn Alley, it was pertinent that the Ravenclaw student recover what was taken.

 _Yet, when Sherlock arrived at the portrait, waiting for John to let him inside (per his owl), he was left standing outside until thankfully Sally Donovan strolled by, letting him in with only an eye roll._

 _He was, however, not expecting the sight that met him in the burgundy-colored room. He had managed just a blink before dodging an incoming pillow._

" _He told me what you said!" Mary screamed, throwing another pillow at John, who managed to avoid the plush ammo, "You bastard!"_

 _John cursed and jogged to the other side of the room, thankful that Mary didn't have her wand. "What did I say?" He yelled back, his hands moving wildly, "Just bloody come out with it!"_

 _She chucked another pillow at him and wiped at her damp cheeks. "I get it, okay? I know I don't come from some bloody perfect family like you do! Sure, you've got a muggle mum, but your father fought in the war! That's enough isn't it?" She screamed out, before tossing another pillow, "But I didn't realize my background would be such a fucking problem for you!"_

" _What are you talking about?" John began to move towards her, shaking his head vigorously, "I don't—"_

 _Mary hiccupped and shoved at his chest. "Get away from me, John. Chat with Lestrade and Sholto if you need a reminder about the awful things you said."_

 _She pushed past her boyfriend and marched to the door, her shoulders held high. Sherlock, who had been frozen by the entrance, met her gaze. He swallowed and opened his mouth._

" _Mary—"_

" _Sherlock," She choked out, shaking her head, "Just don't."_

 _As the blonde disappeared out the door, Sherlock took tentative steps towards John, who sat with his head in his hands. The curly-haired boy cleared his throat and shoved his hands into his pockets, unsure of what to do with himself. When John looked up, he only met his best mate's gaze with contempt._

" _You going to mock me? Tell me this is why you avoid relationships and all that nonsense?"_

 _Sherlock frowned and opened his mouth to respond but was quickly cut off by John._

" _I'm not in the bloody mood, Sherlock! If you want to be an arrogant git, and tell the world how fucking wonderful you are, go to the kitchens! The house elves are the only ones who give a shite."_

 _John stormed up the stairs, leaving Sherlock in the Gryffindor common room, his heart hammering in his chest. With a frown, he strolled out, wondering if he had managed to lose the only two friends he had left._

When he opened his eyes, meeting the grey skies above the castle, he sighed. He had figured out Hagrid's thief—some third-year Slytherin that was dared by a fourth-year—and recovered the missing vials all before noon. And the breakfast preceding the recovery had been spectacularly awful.

Mary had spent the meal huddled with Molly and Jessa Hartley, another Gryffindor sixth-year, sharing angry, hushed whispers with the girls. John shared breakfast on the other side of the hall, stuffing his face and arguing with Lestrade and Sholto. And Sherlock…

Well, he had gone to his normal seat, expecting to be joined by his three best friends. Like he had for the past five years. Instead, he was met with empty space. As a result, he was forced to listen to Anderson babble about their upcoming match, the entire time wondering why his chest suddenly felt so heavy.

With a sore back and a slightly dirty robe, he began his trek back into the castle, although stopping as Molly came into his field of vision. She was clutching her Ancient Runes book to her chest, a quill tucked behind her ear, her rug sack hanging off her back. They stopped moving simultaneously once their eyes met. He somehow managed not to stumble back, overwhelmed by the sincerity in her chocolate eyes.

"Hi, Sherlock," She began, her voice soft and soothing on his aching heart, "Good morning."

He cleared his throat and clutched the novel to his hip, slightly embarrassed by his reading. Molly immediately dropped her gaze to the worn book before meeting his eyes, her lips twitching into a soft smile. Sherlock coughed.

"Well, technically it's past morning so—"

Molly shook her head, slightly amused. "Is that your favorite?" She asked, ignoring his contradiction.

Sherlock swallowed and looked down at the novel. He bit his lip and shook his head. "No. I've just read all four of the other novels you gave me multiple times."

She blushed softly. "I see. But I'm glad you enjoyed _The Maltese Falcon_."

He cleared his throat. "It was still enjoyable the second time around."

The two stood in the breeze, watching each other expectantly, both now sporting pink-tinted cheeks and ears from the wind and their conversation. Sherlock was desperately willing his mouth to move and to say something else. He could talk about how lovely she looked in periwinkle, or how he was impressed with her recent O on their Charms exam or ask if she was looking forward to the Ravenclaw and Gryffindor quidditch match.

Instead, he stared at her with wide eyes, his mouth disgustingly dry. Molly smiled softly and glanced down at her text book. She looked back to Sherlock and nibbled on her lip, suddenly shy.

"You care to study with me? Our Ancient Runes exam is on Wednesday." She asked, her voice jerking him out of his stupor.

And while his back was aching, his hands were cold, and he was rather hungry, his response was immediate.

"I'd love to."

-o-o-

They had returned to Sherlock's favorite tree, although this time the boy was far more comfortable after Molly transformed a handkerchief into a blanket for the pair to sit on. She emptied some parchment and another quill from her rug sack, along with a frilly tin of some sort. He watched on, listening to her humming, as she flipped the textbook to their current chapter. And then, to ease his curiosity, she opened the tin, exposing the delicious scent of lemon and powdered sugar to the brisk air.

Molly smiled and grabbed one. "My mum sent these. I send them an owl every week. They've gotten much better at learning how to send parcels," She explained, before biting into the soft, crescent-shaped dessert, "And mum makes the best lemon biscuits. Try one! I know you fancy lemon drops."

He was incapable of doing anything but nodding. He grabbed a biscuit and bit into the tart, sugary sweetness, his eyes nearly rolling back at the taste. Molly smiled and watched on.

"Good, aren't they?" She asked, wiping her sugar-coated hands on the edges of her robe.

Sherlock swallowed the remnants of the biscuit and nodded eagerly. "Yes. Are these what all muggle desserts taste like?" He asked, genuinely curious.

She laughed and pushed the tin closer to him. "If you're asking if our sweets are good, then the answer is yes! We've got loads of wonderful stuff. And while I love a good chocolate frog, you haven't lived until you've had a chocolate orange."

His eyebrow quirked. "Do muggles grow oranges made of chocolate?"

Her rich laugh warmed his nerves in a way that nothing else could. "Something like that, Sherlock."

The pair descended into a comfortable silence, both looking to Molly's text book, scribbling down a translation of the runes on the page. And even though Sherlock desperately wanted to continue this dream like afternoon, sitting close enough to Molly to smell her rose perfume and her strawberry shampoo and now her mum's delicious lemon cookies, he had a few questions.

"I thought James was your Ancient Runes study partner now," He asked, his voice cracking slightly as the words escaped his lips.

As expected, Molly stopped her writing and glanced over at Sherlock. She sighed. "He has quidditch practice." She began to play with her quill, her eyes studying her mostly bare parchment, "Besides, I reckon we need to chat."

Sherlock swallowed. "Yes. Chat. Molly, I'm sorry." He shifted on the ground and turned towards her. "I want to make something very clear. At the quidditch match last week, you implied that I was only your friend because I felt I needed one in Ravenclaw. And yes, as a first-year, I did seek out a friend in my own house." He took a quick breath and continued his rambling, "But you must understand that you're my friend because I want you to be. I enjoy spending time with you and I admire your intelligence and your humor."

He ran a hand through his curls and glanced down to his powder-covered trousers. "I'm so very sorry if I've upset you Molly. I let my own misgivings with Moriarty affect my friendship with you and that's not fair." He took a deep breath and glanced back at the girl, "If you fancy him, and he treats you well, then I…" He desperately held onto his look of indifference, "Well, I support your relationship."

Molly frowned and reached across the blanket, placing her hand on top of his. At the feeling of her soft skin, he glanced towards her. She gave him a comforting smile, in sync with the squeeze of her hand.

"I accept your apology Sherlock. I know that couldn't have been easy for you. But you need to remember how cruel your words can be." She moved beside the boy and set her head on his shoulder, her gaze locked on the suddenly blue skies, "Our friendship will survive. It's been through a lot," She began, her voice now tinged with amusement, "that duel with Sally, your near expulsion third-year, my crush on you, Mary and John's relationship…" She looked back to the boy and smiled, "We'll be just fine, Sherlock."

 _My crush on you._

He swallowed and looked at his shoulder, his heart hammering out of his chest. Her strawberry scented hair was nearly tickling his nostrils, and he quite frankly couldn't remember a time he was more at ease than with Molly Hooper's head on his shoulder.

Yet, as her words replayed in his head, he was forced to ask another follow-up question, this one surely to be unpleasant.

"What happened between Mary and John?" He asked, still studying Molly, "Neither of them have spoken to me since yesterday evening. Mary wouldn't let me talk to her, and John…" he sighed and shifted uncomfortably, "John was an arse."

At the mention of their two friends, Molly frowned. "Oh, well…" She sighed and sat up, causing Sherlock to immediately miss the warmth of her body and the scent of her hair, "James Sholto told Mary some truly awful things John said. And naturally, Mary didn't believe him." She sniffled, clearly upset by the actions of her friends, and looked towards Sherlock, "Until Greg verified the story and said he heard John say it too. Greg is one of their closest friends. He wouldn't lie."

Sherlock raised an eyebrow. "What exactly did John say? Was he sloshed?"

Molly shook her head. "No. Apparently, he told Lestrade and Sholto all about taking Mary's virginity and then called her…" She sniffled and looked away, "He called her a lowbred cunt, one that would probably end up in Azkaban like her mother." She hugged herself and sniffled, "I rather not repeat the rest."

Sherlock shook his head and scoffed. "John would never say such a thing. You can't possibly believe that, can you?"

She frowned and looked down. "I trust James and Greg. Why would they lie about that sort of thing?" She sniffled and looked back to her text book, "Besides, Mary said John had been acting weird lately."

Sherlock narrowed his eyes. "John Watson would not slander a hair on Mary Morstan's head, let alone call her a lowbred cunt."

Molly touched his cheek and frowned. "How well do we really know people, Sherlock?"

 _Mycroft had given me a few warnings about you. Said you were hard to deal with, stubborn, not as intelligent as him…_

Sherlock swallowed and studied Molly, Slughorn's words ringing through his head.

 _No. Not John._

 _He couldn't have._

 _Could he?_

Molly sighed and grabbed her parchment. "Let's get back to studying, shall we?"

-o-o-

Monday morning, Sherlock found himself back in the potions classroom, listening to Slughorn's painful voice describe Amortentia, the infamous love potion. The old man was wearing a deep red robe, perhaps to correlate with the theme of the love for the morning session.

"If you look at the batch I've prepared, you can clearly see steam rising in spirals!" He sputtered out, waving his hands excitedly, "now, you'll know that your batch is successful if it shares the color of pearls. And, of course," He paused for dramatic effect, the crow's feet of his eyes wrinkling in delight, "You smell the things that you love most in the world!"

The girls watched in utmost fascination, along with Anderson, while the rest of the boys stubbornly listened to Slughorn's directions. A few moments passed before the students were instructed to begin their batch, still being forced to listen to Slughorn's warnings of the dangers of the potion.

Sherlock had added another spoonful of pearl dust, his eyes shifting around the room. Mary and John no longer shared a desk—Mary was now paired with Sally Donovan, and John was relegated to the odd desk, now the only student in the classroom without a tablemate, given their odd number of thirteen. Sherlock watched his best mate, his eyes evaluating every inch of his face. They hadn't spoken since Friday evening, and of all the things Sherlock was good at, approaching people after arguments was certainly not one of them.

From beside him, Molly added a dash of powdered moonstone, a pleasant hum escaping her lips. She glanced over to Sherlock and blew out a loose strand of hair away from her face.

"Are we sure we use only a single rose thorn? The consistency of mine looks wrong," She groaned, looking back to her text book to reread the recipe.

Sherlock grabbed his wand and began to mix his potion. "A thorn and a half. The thornier it is, the stronger the potion is."

Molly nodded and broke a thorn in half, before tossing hers in. She grabbed her wand and began to mix, before glancing back at Sherlock. "Mary and John haven't spoken since Friday. He keeps approaching her, but she refuses to even look at him."

Sherlock looked back at his best mate, and then to Mary. The blonde incidentally met his gaze and frowned, before focusing back on her cauldron. He sighed and set his wand down.

"I take it that this is more than a lovers' spat?"

Molly frowned and tucked the loose strand behind her ear. "This isn't a lovers' spat, Sherlock. I think they've broken up."

Her declaration had Sherlock blinking a few times, unable to digest her words.

 _John and Mary are broken up?_

Surely that couldn't be right. Their relationship had become so ingrained in Sherlock's everyday life that he could hardly imagine a world where he'd have breakfast without seeing the two snog. And aside from his own selfish desires to see the status quo kept, he was genuinely concerned for both of his mates, knowing how important they were to one another.

John had never vocalized the desire, but Sherlock knew that the Gryffindor wanted to propose to Marry once they finished school. For his best mate, there was no one else he would ever want.

Sherlock had been scantily paying attention to his potions, instead studying John, when Slughorn's booming voice yelled out his name.

"Sherlock! Molly! Those look splendid!" He scurried over, clapping his hands excitedly, "Class, take a look at what these two have done! Do you see the spirals? Oh, it's terrific!"

He grinned and leaned over the table, taking a whiff from each cauldron. "Oh, yes, just spectacular. Now, go ahead, take a sniff!"

The old man gave Molly an enthusiastic smile. The entire class had trudged over, being forced to eye the first successful pair of students to brew a pleasant batch. Under the stares of her fellow sixth-years, including her feuding best friends, her boyfriend, and Sherlock, she let out an uneasy breath.

"I smell…" She leaned over the cauldron and inhaled the pearly-fumes, shutting her eyes in the process. Her cheeks tinted pink as she began to speak, her voice cracking, "I smell fresh parchment, and ocean water," she took another whiff of the aroma and cleared her throat, "and lemons, and…" She opened her eyes and swallowed, "a freshly mowed pitch."

Sherlock watched as her eyes met Moriarty's. The git gave her a smirk and winked, causing the girl to flush a deep red. Sherlock's lips almost twitched into a frown, but he was able to hold onto his practiced look of indifference. And while he had hoped he would get out of being watched by the class, Slughorn turned to him expectantly.

He groaned and leaned over the cauldron, letting the fumes invade his senses. The scents immediately mellowed his body and liquified his bones, the aroma making him feel like he was on top of the world.

He swallowed and forced himself to speak. "I smell violin resin, and old books, and fresh rain, and something…" He staggered back and looked away, suddenly feeling bashful, "A tad fruity. Vaguely floral."

Slughorn grinned and smacked his hands together, his shoulders shaking in delight as the bell rang. "Oh, splendid! What a wonderful class! Make sure to compliment Miss Hooper and Mr. Holmes on their wonderful achievements!"

As everyone began to grab their belongings, Sherlock stared at the cauldron, his stomach doing flips. He had prematurely receded into his mind palace, trying to classify the scents, when a feminine hand was pressed on his back. He immediately jerked forward and turned to meet the blue gaze of Irene Adler.

"Oh, Sherlock, such as a shame, isn't it?" She purred, her hand moving to his arm, "Molly practically told the whole class how much she loved Jim out there." She moved closer, her eyes twinkling in amusement, "I hope this wounds you."

He narrowed his eyes at the girl. "Adler, you—"

His retort was interrupted as Molly and Moriarty strolled over, hand in hand. Molly looked between Sherlock and the Slytherin girl, her eyes darting between the placement of her manicured hand on his arm and Irene's smirking face.

Moriarty just laughed. "Oh, don't eat him alive, Irene! I reckon Holmes wants to stay focused for his match this weekend." James taunted, winking suggestively at the Ravenclaw boy, "Be careful, mate. Irene has quite the reputation."

Sherlock narrowed his eyes. "Moriarty—"

He was quick to interject. "Let's grab lunch, Molly. I'm starving."

And then he was dragging Molly off, the Ravenclaw girl still staring at the pair, her brown eyes swimming with confusion. Sherlock cleared his throat and pushed Irene's hand away. He grabbed his bag and glared at the Slytherin girl.

"I suggest you stop whatever game you're playing, Irene. I understand you think I'm romantically interested in Molly and feel the need to taunt me because she's in a relationship with Moriarty." He fixed his robe and sent her a menacing look, "But I suggest you stop playing with fire. You won't like when you get burned."

She pursed her lips and smirked. "Are you flirting with me, Holmes?"

He shook his head and stormed out.

-o-o-

The next morning, Sherlock awoke to a Hogwarts owl perched on his bed side, clutching a parcel in its beak. He yawned and dug out some spare change, paying the bird before grabbing the gift. He rubbed his eyes and eagerly torn into the papers. As soon as his eyes landed on the gift, a muggle novel, his heart soared.

He turned the front page and found the square note from Molly, his cheeks now flaming red.

 _Sherlock,_

 _Since you've read all five of your past Christmas gifts many times, here's an early gift to curb your appetite._

 _P.S. Poe's most famous poem is about a raven. Whenever I read a story by him, I think of you._

 _-Molly xxx_

He stared at _The Murders in the Rue Morgue_ , his insides practically melting. As he looked between the beautifully illustrated cover, and Molly's neat handwriting, he found himself unable to breath. He cleared his throat and quickly tucked away the book, eager for a chance to read the story later in the afternoon.

After quickly getting ready, he had made his way to the Great Hall, a new bounce in his step. He couldn't help but smile as he collapsed into his seat, even as Anderson approached, holding a parcel to his chest. He sat in front of Sherlock and stretched.

"This came for you right before you sat down! Some beautiful bird dropped it off." Anderson explained, sliding over the parcel with a yawn, "You owe me money. I had to pay it."

Sherlock rolled his eyes and opened the gift, his eyes meeting a tin of twelve perfectly wrapped lemon drops. A small note was attached, the words neatly typed from what he only assumed was a ministry standard type writer. He cursed and forced himself to read the letter.

 _Dearest Brother,_

 _I do hope your studies are going well. I look forward to hearing about your quidditch match this coming weekend. I am unsure if I will be able to attend. Nevertheless, I wish you the best of luck._

 _You'll certainly need it._

 _Your brother,_

 _MH_

Sherlock growled and crumbled the letter, immediately tossing it to the side. Who in Merlin's name did Mycroft think he was? He never failed to be an arrogant twit in his writing, and his pompous words, even if just transcribed by him, made Sherlock's appetite disappear.

He pushed the package away and rose to his feet. "Feel free to have these, Anderson. I'm not interested."

Anderson looked into the tin and grinned. "Really? Lemon drops are the best!"

"Yes, well, I rarely accept gifts from my brother."

His quidditch captain shrugged. "If you say so! I'll never say no to sweets."

Sherlock scowled and looked back into the tin, his stomach begging for the delicious dessert. He cursed and grabbed one, holding it tightly in his fist.

 _One won't hurt._

With his head held high, he stormed out of the room, intent on feeling the fresh air of the courtyard. He slipped the candy into his mouth and began to suck, suddenly feeling a warmth overcome his body.

 _Oh, yes. This is nice._

-o-o-

Mere moments passed. Sherlock had retreated to the wooden bridge, his head pressed against a hard beam, his eyes locked on the dying brown area surrounding the castle. He shut his eyes and took in a staggering breath, suddenly aware of every nerve in his body lighting on fire.

Just the thought of her soft brown hair, and big, inquisitive eyes, and small shape underneath his body had him shaking. Not only did he need to see her, but he had to have her.

And as if another bloke was going to stand in his way.

His eyes shot open, and he immediately stormed towards the castle, his long legs moving too slowly for his own liking.

 _Left foot, right foot, left foot, right foot._

He approached the doors to the Great Hall when he sensed her presence. But, a crowd of students and rather intense swearing momentarily distracted him. He glanced around the corridor until his eyes landed on a familiar face.

"What's going on?" He asked Molly, his eyes shifting between the crowd and brown-haired girl.

She held her books to her chest and frowned. "I'm not quite sure…"

"Do you know who's fighting?"

Sally Donovan stormed over, waving her arms frantically. "You won't bloody believe this! I thought it was Moran picking on another fourth year—it's bloody Anderson and Greg!"

Molly frowned and looked to the Gryffindor girl. "Phillip and Greg fighting? That doesn't seem right."

"Tensions are running high before the match, and with John and Mary not speaking, Greg may be getting desperate," Sally explained, her eyes locked on the seventh-year, the admiration clearly shining through.

Sherlock opened his mouth to respond, until a glimpse of brown hair and red lips had his nerves on alert.

 _Oh, yes._

"Irene!" He shrieked, his legs now moving towards the stairwell.

The Slytherin girl stepped off the moving platform and smirked at Sherlock. "Yes, Holmes?"

Instead of speaking, he knew the one thing his mind, his heart, and his entire bloody body wanted. He grabbed the girl, his hands moving to her shoulder and to above her bum, and pulled her against his form. Not wasting a beat, he pressed an eager kiss to her lips.

The noise from the fight died down as he snogged Irene. He had moved her against the wall, enjoying the softness of her hair against his face, and her sharp scent invading his space. Clearly, he had somehow managed to drown out the noise of his idiot classmates by kissing the girl of his dreams.

 _Yes. This is true love. I'll have to tell mum._

Sherlock was already recounting in his head how he would propose when he was ripped away from the Slytherin girl's soft lips. His body was promptly shoved into the wall, and the attacker had managed to place an expertly timed kick into his bollocks.

He let out a harsh cry and forced his eyes open, stunned to meet the angry blue gaze of Mary Morstan. He groaned and hissed at the girl.

"Merlin's beard, Mary! Do you mind?" He cried out, now holding onto his crotch in pain.

Mary glanced between him and Irene, who stood smirking and dabbing at her signature red lipstick. She growled.

"I see Phillip and Greg being escorted away by McGonagall and then turn around to see you snogging a slag like Irene?" She hissed out, shoving at his chest, "You think this will make Molly jealous? You're a bloody moron!"

Before Sherlock could respond, Irene sauntered over and gave the girl a fierce look. "Morstan, your input was not requested. Sherlock and I are very much interested in each other, so I suggest you sod off. Unless you were hoping for a chance with him now that Watson is out of the picture?"

Mary growled. "Why you—"

Irene smirked. "Besides, I wouldn't call me a slag. Word on the street is, per Watson's potty mouth, you're the slag. Or…" She bit her lip and rubbed at Sherlock's chest, "What were his words? Oh, yes! A lowbred cunt."

The Gryffindor girl looked to Sherlock, unable to stop the trembling of her bottom lip. "Sherlock, how can you—"

Instead of letting her finish, he grinned at Irene. "Can we snog in a broom closet?"

Irene smirked at Mary and dragged Sherlock off, answering every one of his requests with a sultry smile. The Gryffindor watched them leave, tears streaming down her cheeks. And across the corridor, she wasn't the only girl shedding a tear.

-o-o-

Oh, had the past day and a half been splendid! Not only had his room been delightfully empty, after Anderson received some pretty harsh detention after his mysterious fight with Greg, but he had filled his hours with Irene. And Merlin, was she the most magnificent specimen he had ever seen. She had gorgeous, dark hair, and big, blue eyes, and those pouty red lips were to die for!

Unfortunately, their opportunities to snog had been few and far between with classes, but with dinner approaching, his luck had finally taken a turn for the better. He felt her hot breath around his ear as she pulled away, offering him a sultry smirk.

"Come on, Sherlock. Let's head inside." She purred, grabbing his hand with twinkling eyes.

Sherlock swallowed and nodded, letting himself be guided into the Great Hall. For some bizarre reason, the place immediately silenced, and most students abandoned their eating to watch the new couple enter the hall. But, Sherlock shrugged.

He normally got quite a bit of attention. And now that he was snogging the most gorgeous girl in all the wizarding world, why wouldn't people be staring?

He intuitively moved towards his favorite table, but Irene instead pulled him towards where the Slytherin's normally sat. Before Sherlock could open his mouth to object, she had guided him into his seat, and perfectly sprawled herself across his lap. She wrapped her arms around his neck and smirked.

"Comfortable, Sherlock?" She purred, her lips now moving down his neck.

He swallowed and nodded, practically hypnotized by her voice. She laughed softly and began to fill their plates, whispering to him about how delicious his lips were.

 _No, Irene, your lips are the delicious ones._

Her words were cut off by the boisterous laughter and masculine whistles of James Moriarty and Sebastian Moran. The two approached the table, joined by Molly, who kept her head down. James plopped onto the bench and smirked at Sherlock and Irene.

"Wowza! Look at Holmes, on the dark side! He finally sees the perks of going green!" Moriarty choked out, desperate laughter escaping his lips. As Molly slid in beside him, her gaze steadily focused on the table, Moriarty wrapped his arms around her shoulders.

Moran slid in beside her, a lecherous grin across his lips. "Say, you shagged yet? I bet Irene is hot in the sack."

Before Sherlock could open his mouth, Irene narrowed her eyes. "Sebastian, use another couple to satisfy your weird, sexual fetishes." She pressed another kiss to Sherlock's jaw and smirked. "We haven't yet, but when we will, it will be…" Her gaze shifted ever so slightly towards Molly, the corner of her mouth twitching into a smirk, "Marvelous."

James laughed again and pulled Molly closer. "Say, Molls, don't these two make a great couple? My best friend with your best friend?"

Molly finally stopped studying the boiled potatoes and glanced over to the pair, her eyes shifting from Irene's tight hold on Sherlock, to his red stained lips and messy curls, to the overall goofy smile painted across his lips.

She offered her boyfriend a curt nod and instead focused on the roasted chicken. "I reckon so."

-o-o-

He surely had a pep in his step. Dinner with the Slytherins had been nowhere near as awful as he expected, especially when he had Irene's wonderful kisses to keep him company. He had just dropped off his beautiful Irene at the Slytherin dungeon and had practically skipped back to the Ravenclaw Tower when a familiar voice caught his attention.

"Hi, Molly." He offered, still grinning like a madman.

She swallowed and tugged at her robes, looking awfully shy in the moonlight. "So… You and Irene… You're…." She frowned and glanced at the floor before back at the boy, "Dating."

He nodded excitedly. "She's gorgeous, isn't she? Good at snogging too."

Molly just nodded and looked away. "Right. I… I thought something may have been going on between you two," she added, her voice just a whisper.

Sherlock sighed happily. "Oh, she's perfect. I've never been so happy. And it's refreshing given all the madness with John and Mary."

She hugged herself and met his gaze. "Yeah. I get it." She took a deep breath and turned to head up the stairs to the girl's bedrooms, "Goodnight, Sherlock."

He grinned and waved her off before moving towards his own room, whistling delightedly.

Oh, yes. Things had certainly taken a turn for the better.

-o-o-

The next morning, Sherlock was tying his tie when Anderson finally strolled into their bedroom, looking worse for wear. He was sporting a nasty looking black eye, and his arm had been bandaged up.

"I'll be fine for the game!" Anderson hurried out, clearly projecting his own concerns about his health on Sherlock's gaze, "I swear!"

The curly-haired boy quirked an eyebrow. "Right. And why exactly were you fighting Greg Lestrade in the first place?"

Anderson made a face and collapsed on his bed. "That's the question of the hour! I don't bloody know! I don't remember anything." He grumbled to himself and yawned, "But, I figured I got a bit too excited for the match and started talking up the team."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "I see. Anyways, I'll be going. Irene is waiting for me."

"Irene? As in Irene Adler?"

He made a face. "Yes? That is my girlfriend."

Anderson grabbed his head and groaned. "Jeez, I must have really knocked myself out."

Sherlock rolled his eyes before leaving the Ravenclaw Tower, heading towards the Great Hall as fast as his desperate legs would allow him. A night's sleep was far too long to spend without Irene by his side, and all he wanted for breakfast with a nice snog with the beautiful brunette.

Upon spotting her in the Great Hall, he collapsed beside her and grinned. She immediately pressed a kiss to his lips and ran a hand down his chest.

"Sherlock, dear, I had the house elves prepare you some lemon drizzle cake. I know how much you fancy lemon," She explained, her fingers moving through his soft curls.

He gulped and nodded, immediately digging into the dessert. And as soon as the sugar hit his tongue, his body felt on high alert. Once the cake had been swallowed, he pulled the girl into his arms for another passionate snog.

As he continued his intense snog, he tried to ignore the feeling of being tapped on his shoulder. While he had managed for a bit, the intense prodding had become too aggravating. He pulled away and met Mary's less-than-thrilled face. She crossed her arms and studied the couple.

"Sherlock," she began, focusing only on the boy, "We need to talk."

He opened his mouth, willing to appease his friend (or former? He was a bit shaky on where he stood with most of his former mates but with Irene by his side, did it even really matter?) but Irene was quick to jump in.

"Mary, darling, I know you must be lonely without Watson's tongue shoved up that dirty snatch of yours, but Sherlock isn't interested." She purred out, her hands back to rubbing at the boy's chest.

The blonde dropped her gaze from Irene's hands to the singular piece of lemon cake on the table. She quirked an eyebrow and looked to Sherlock.

"Right. I'll find another bloke to shove his tongue up my snatch," She stepped away and looked back to Irene, "But only when you pull the wand out of your arse, Adler."

The blonde strolled off, her head held high. Sherlock shrugged and returned to eating his cake, happily humming as his girlfriend rubbed at his back. Moments later, Moriarty and Molly slid into the table, the former smirking, and the latter looking incredibly uncomfortable.

Irene smirked at the Ravenclaw girl and wrapped her arms around Sherlock. "Oh, Molly, it's so wonderful we're all friends now. We should all go on a date to Madame Puddifoot's, don't you think? Or the Three Broomsticks?"

Molly glanced at Sherlock, who happily ate his cake, before back to Irene. She frowned slightly before taking a sip of her pumpkin juice. "That would be nice."

"Splendid. Then we can have real girl talk," She leaned in, her eyes mischievous, "You know, talk about our expectations for the big night."

Molly swallowed. "The big night?"

Irene smirked. "You know, when I let Sherlock fuck me and you let James fuck you." She glanced over to Jim, who was busy filling his plate, "Unless you two have already shagged?"

The Ravenclaw squeaked and shook her head. "No—I—"

Irene just laughed. "Perfect. I have plans for Sherlock and me. I just know he must have a big cock—just look at him!"

And before Molly could squeak out a reply, or either boys could awake from their food stupor, McGonagall had taken to the podium to make some announcements about their upcoming exams.

-o-o-

Sherlock was having a lovely day. Classes had been a breeze. Lunch had been especially good. Snogging Irene was of course the highlight of his day. Even Quidditch practice and his evening corridor sweep with Sally Donovan had been more enjoyable than usual.

"You're going to lose, you know." The Gryffindor girl said, her words cutting through the previous silence of their rounds.

He snorted. "As if. I have no intention to lose to you lot."

Sally shook her head and kept walking. "You're underestimating us. I'm sure that's why Phillip and Greg got into that fight. Don't assume because one of our captains has a black eye, and the other is a moody shit, that we're going to lose!"

Sherlock stopped at the reference to John. He hadn't spoken to his best friend in nearly two weeks. He turned to Sally.

"John. How is John?"

She shrugged. "He always looks super focused. He's been staying out late. I dunno what's up with him."

Sherlock quirked an eyebrow. "And Mary?"

Sally groaned. "Thankfully she stopped jabbering with Jessa about those awful things John said. I haven't seen her much these past few days. She's been hanging out in the potions classroom."

Sherlock shrugged and stuck his hands into his pockets, hoping he'd be able to stop by the dungeons for a quick snog with Irene before bed. Sally hurried after him, her legs no match for his long strides.

"And what's this with you and Adler? I thought you two hated each other!" She asked, desperately trying to hold in a laugh.

He sent her a dirty look. "Is something funny?"

"Yes! You in a relationship!" She laughed and kept walking, "I never imagined you with a girl. Except Molly of course. She's had it bad for so long." She whistled and turned on her heels, "But now that she's with Moriarty, and you have Adler, I guess that ship sailed."

Sherlock opened his mouth to respond but was cut off by the toll of a clock. Sally groaned and stretched.

"Thank Merlin that's over. See you next week, freak." Sally scurried off towards the Gryffindor quarters, leaving Sherlock to roam the corridors.

He had been thinking about Irene, specifically her luscious, red lips, when a shadowy figure appeared from behind one of the walls. Sherlock stopped walking and glanced at the figure. He quirked an eyebrow.

"Mary?"

She cleared her throat and pulled her wand out. "I'm sorry, Sherlock. But this is for your own good."

And before he could respond, she had flicked her wand and muttered "Petrificus Totalus". He immediately collapsed to the ground, his limbs frozen to his sides, his eyes locked on her form. She silently apologized before bending over and grabbing his ankles.

Mary managed to drag him into a broom closet and propped him up on a chair. Unable to do anything but watch her, Sherlock studied the blonde girl. She looked rather exhausted—her robe was covered in bits of potions materials, and pieces of her blonde hair were standing up in every which direction.

She collapsed onto the ground and rubbed at her eyes, looking incredibly sad. And of all of his friends (assuming he still had any besides his lovely Irene), Mary was the one person who never looked sad. She was incredibly brave, exceedingly strong, and had the true heart of a Gryffindor.

Yet, he watched as tears descended along her cheeks, although the girl ignored the droplets and began to dig through her bag. She sniffled and pulled out a vial, clutching the small glass in her hands, her eyes moving towards Sherlock.

"It's been a horrid couple of weeks, Sherlock," She explained, her eyes locked on the vial between her fingers, "Before any of the mess here at Hogwarts, it had been awful at home." She let out a hiccup and continued, "My Aunt is dying, and my idiot cousin is being interrogated by the Ministry, and there isn't a single person in my family that isn't a bloody disaster."

She wiped her cheeks and fixed her robe. "And then to hear that my boyfriend, the boy I loved, the boy that I thought…" She shook her head and glanced down, "Never mind that. How could John say such things? Was I just a piece of arse for him? After all this time?"

Sherlock was screaming internally, desperate to tell her of course not, desperate to voice that there must be some misunderstanding, that John would never say such a thing. Alas, he was rendered immobile, still watching the blonde girl break down.

"The first few days he kept trying to talk to me. But I ignored him and now…" She shook her head and let out a terse breath, "Now I see him at practice and that's all. We don't even make eye contact."

She moved closer to Sherlock and touched his cheek, her lips turning into a frown. "I'm sorry if I snapped at you. I love you dearly, Sherlock. And at the moment, after losing John, I just…" She caressed his cheek and sniffled, "I just assumed you'd take his side. You were his friend first."

He again wanted to scream that he was both of their mates, that he cared about them equally, that he wanted them both happy. Instead, he just stared at her.

Mary sniffled and looked towards the vial. "But this isn't about me and John. This is about you and that Slytherin slag. After seeing you with Irene, I did some of my own detective work. And once you drink this vial, I'll know for certain if my theory is right."

Sherlock watched as she uncapped the vial and hovered over his body. She forced his jaw open and poured the contents inside, before silently whispering the counter course. She jumped back as Sherlock regained mobility, the boy immediately sitting up and choking on the potion she had poured down his throat.

He gasped as the burning sensation traveled down his throat and rested in his stomach. His mind, which had been blissfully foggy, suddenly cleared up. He blinked a few times and looked towards Mary, his eyes wide in surprise.

"What…" He cleared his throat, his voice suddenly hoarse, "What happened to me?"

Mary sighed and slid back to the floor, sitting beside him. She gave his arm a comforting pat. "A love potion. A bloody strong one, too."

Sherlock blinked a few times and touched his lips, feeling the cracked, overused surface below his fingertips. He cursed and rubbed at his eyes, unbelieving of the situation.

Could Sherlock Holmes, the cleverest boy in Hogwarts, really have been tricked into taking a love potion?

He swallowed and turned to Mary. "Even a strong one couldn't have lasted for almost a week."

She made a noise of agreement. "I thought the same. But I figured it out," She smiled softly and gave his hand another squeezed, "I learned from the best."

He couldn't help but smile back, even though he was anything but happy. "Well, I'm glad you have. What happened?"

Mary slid the empty vial into her pocket and sighed. "Well, I knew something was amiss when I saw Greg and Phillip fighting. Philip is the least confrontational bloke in the world, and Greg, as Head Boy, would never put himself in that situation. Everyone kept saying it was Quidditch related, but I knew that couldn't be the case."

She glanced over at Sherlock and continued. "At our usual spot, I found a box of lemon sweets." She looked to her nails, "With only three pieces missing. I didn't think anything of it until I saw you and Irene snogging outside the Great Hall."

Sherlock cursed and dropped his head to his hands. "The bloody lemon drops!"

Mary nodded. "You, Phillip and Greg must have each had one. And somehow, you managed to get to Irene, and the other two morons decked it out over her. As soon as they were taken to the medical wing, their treatment would have gotten rid of anything in their systems. So, naturally, they were over the infatuation and didn't remember anything from the fight by the time they were released."

He pulled at his curls and mumbled to himself. "I feel sick. I've been snogging Irene for days."

She frowned and squeezed his hand. "It didn't seem like you. I…" She sighed and shifted to face him, "At first, I did consider that it was legitimate. That maybe you were trying to make Molly jealous. But… The amount I saw you two snogging was not the behavior of the Sherlock I knew."

Mary dusted off her robe and rose to her feet. "Then I saw her feeding you and only you lemon cake and I figured she must have been replenishing your dosage."

Sherlock growled and stood up. "How could she have gotten into the lemon drops? They came from Guinevere with a note from Mycroft!"

She raised an eyebrow. "Did you see the delivery?"

"No. But Anderson said a beautiful bird delivered it. And the note was typed with a ministry type-writer."

Mary hummed and grabbed her bag. "Guinevere is not the only beautiful owl out there. And I'm sure it wouldn't be terribly difficult for Irene to get her hands on Ministry letterhead given what her parents do for a living."

Sherlock swallowed and shook his head. "I couldn't have been tricked. There's no way that I could have fallen for her games!"

The blonde opened the door and gave him a sad smile. "You can't win everything, Sherlock. Sometimes you lose. Sometimes you're outsmarted."

He sighed and followed her out of the closet. He was exhausted, dehydrated, and a tad pale. All he wanted to do was fall asleep, and deal with this mess in the morning. Mary pressed a kiss to his cheek and continued on, leaving Sherlock to figure out how he had fallen for the trickery of a certain Slytherin girl.

-o-o-

As it turns out, his nightmare was only beginning, if the following morning was any indication. Even though he had been exhausted the previous evening, he hadn't managed a wink of sleep. He had spent the evening figuring out his game plan—he would play along for another morning, deciding not to announce to the world her use of potions before he could seek revenge.

Sherlock Holmes would not be outwitted.

Yet, those plans slowly drifted away as he entered the Great Hall. Again, every eye was on him. He looked around with narrowed eyes and moved to take a step towards the Slytherin table, intent on meeting with Irene, ready to continue the charade. However, John Watson appeared in his line of sight, looking rather murderous.

 _Merlin's beard._

"You good for nothing sack of shite!" John screamed, charging towards Sherlock, "How could you bloody do it?"

Sherlock blinked and stared at John, his mouth falling open. "Do what? What—"

John growled and shoved him into the corridor, quickly removing his wand from his robe pocket. "You just had to do it, yeah? You get a taste for women and now you gotta shove your cock everywhere?"

The curly-haired boy coughed and studied his best mate, ignoring the students who had escaped the Great Hall to watch the encounter. "What in Merlin's name are you talking about John?"

"I know all about you and Mary!" John screamed, his eyes alight with fury, "I had three people, and bloody Peeves, tell me all about your fun evening in the broom closet on the sixth floor!"

Sherlock cursed and shook his head. "Watson, have you lost your bloody mind? You think Mary and I are shagging?"

John dug his wand into Sherlock's chest and narrowed his eyes. "I never would have guessed it before, but I also never would have guessed you'd start shagging Adler. Sometimes, people change."

Before Sherlock could respond, Mary had stormed over and screamed "Expelliarmus", sending John's wand into her hands. She pushed her ex-boyfriend away from Sherlock and met John's angry, blue gaze.

"You've got a lot of nerve, Watson!" She screamed, waving her wand in front of his face, "You don't speak to me for almost two weeks, but you can threaten Sherlock?"

John growled. "I have every right to if he's shagging—"

Mary shoved him. "No! You have no right! Sherlock and I aren't together. He's like my brother." She shoved him again and shook her head, "And no matter what, what I do and who I spend time with is none of your concern!"

John looked between the two of them and shook his head. He shoved his hands in his robes and held his chin up. "I'll see you lot at the match."

He grabbed his wand from Mary's hands and stormed off. Mary frowned and turned to Sherlock, who intently watched his best mate walk away. He shook his head.

"Something isn't adding up and I will figure it out." Sherlock announced, looking back to Mary, "I just need some time."

Mary frowned and hugged herself. "Nothing makes sense anymore."

He shook his head. "That certainly isn't true. We're still friends."

She smiled softly and nodded. "You're right. We are."

Sherlock kissed her cheek before storming back into the Great Hall. He approached the Slytherin table and met the sultry gaze of Irene Adler. She waved and patted the space beside her. He hurried over and stood behind her, acknowledging the others at the table—Moriarty, Moran, and Molly.

 _Merlin. Molly's seen me with Irene._

He swallowed and looked to Irene, who just smirked at him. "Hello, darling. What was Watson yelling at you about?"

Sherlock shrugged. "The match. He was trash talking."

Irene pouted. "Take a seat. I made some more cake for you."

He shook his head and offered a polite smile. "Given my studies and quidditch, I think this is an inopportune time to enter a relationship, Irene. I truly hope you understand."

She narrowed her eyes and eyed him curiously. "Sherlock—"

He leaned down and hovered next to her ear, blowing hot air along her neck. "Listen here, Adler. You may have achieved in momentarily cursing me, so congratulations. I'm not sure what type of war you want to engage in, but just know this: You won the battle," He blew into her ear and smirked as she shivered, "But you will lose the war."

Sherlock stood up straight and offered the rest of the table a sugary, sweet smile. "I'll see you lot later."

And like that, he was gallivanting out the Great Hall, a new case to solve.

-o-o-

By the weekend, the Ravenclaw and Gryffindor quidditch match came around, and had proven to be just as tumultuous as expected. The Gryffindor team was in all sorts of tatters—John and Greg were barely speaking, Mary and John weren't speaking at all, and their new keeper was out with the flu.

Given the circumstances, Anderson had screamed about how easy the win would be for Ravenclaw, but Sherlock wasn't so sure. While he knew how Mary played, and had faith in his abilities, he also knew the girl was fearless.

And so the match started, Ravenclaw immediately scoring on Gryffindor's second-string keeper, and a distracted John having trouble making any goals at all. Sherlock had been looking around for the snitch, until his eyes landed on the stands.

His heart soared at the sight of Molly finally in a Ravenclaw jumper, albeit bundled up for the autumn cold. However, at the sight of her next to Moriarty, and as a result Moran and Adler, his stomach took a dive. Molly was intently watching the game, cheering with the rest of their house. Moriarty, however, was intimately whispering with Adler.

It was then that a conversation with the boy flashed through his mind.

 _I have a plan. It's bloody brilliant. I know you'll especially love it._

Suddenly, the memory of polyjuicing as Irene and speaking to Moriarty escaped the recesses of his mind palace and jumped around in his oversized brain.

 _It'll be a bit more hands-on than our first approach. It's exactly up your alley._

Sherlock growled and flew towards the stands, his mind on overdrive. Of course, Adler wouldn't be in this alone. Of course, the two Slytherin shits would be working together. And he was so bloody stupid not to have seen it!

He thought back to Moriarty's behavior at Slughorn's party.

 _The love potion._

He growled and continued his flight. He hadn't pieced together why using love potion on him was going to tear him down, but he knew those two snakes were behind it.

He was certain of it.

He managed to meet Molly's gaze, even while on the pitch. She offered him a supportive smile, one that had his stomach flipping and his heart beating roughly in his chest. He swallowed and continued towards the stands, ready to rip into Moriarty and Adler, ready to—

The roar of the crowd was deafening.

"Gryffindor wins! Sixth-year Mary Morstan has caught the snitch! I repeat, Gryffindor defeats Ravenclaw 160 to 70!"

Sherlock stopped his movements and turned back to the pitch, meeting Mary's gaze. She grinned and held up the snitch, her eyes sparkling with pride.

And for once, Sherlock was happy to lose.

Besides.

He had a war to win.

 **To be continued…**

 **NOTE:**

So, yes, any type of love potion is certainly non-consensual, hence my previous warning. Obviously Sherlock was not on board for his endless snogging of Irene, and thankfully they didn't sleep together. It was certainly an interesting chapter to write-I hope we all got through it okay!

We'll finally put some pieces together as we wrap this up. Poor Mary! Love her to death. And only two chapters to go!

Let me know your thoughts! I hope you enjoyed!


	5. Veritaserum

Sherlock enjoyed the cold. He liked the feeling of the wind whipping against his cheeks. He fantasized about the crunching of snow beneath his feet. Most of all, he dreamed of warm butterbeer and his mum's cranberry biscuits, both staples of the colder weather.

But, at the moment, the cold was not in his favor. Not as he and Mary held another secret meeting, standing in the owlery, the attention of some forty birds on their shivering forms. Mary was the first to curse.

"Can't we meet somewhere else? This is bloody killing me! I still think the library is fine," The blonde explained, hugging her arms to her chest. In only a burgundy jumper, Mary was being easily defeated by the Scottish winds.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "We've been over this, Mary. Discussion is not ideal in the library."

She groaned and began to pace. "There has to be somewhere else then! We're never going to get anything done when all I can think about are my freezing toes and arse!"

He sighed and ran a hand through his tangled curls. However, as his fingers twisted with his chocolate locks, a genius thought ran through his head. Mary immediately recognized the look.

"Sherlock? What did you just think about?"

He looked at Mary, his lips twitching into a smile.

"The room of requirement."

-o-o-

In hindsight, Sherlock was gobsmacked by how easy it was to get access to the room. He had spent most of his childhood reading about the war, learning about the trials and tribulations of the golden trio—Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, and Hermione Granger—from his parents, who while older than the trio, were young adults at the time of the war. Of course, endless books and memoirs had been written about the troubling times, including notes on their use of this famed room. It had been virtually destroyed during the Battle of Hogwarts, but as the castle seemed to have a mind of its own, it eventually reappeared, now looking as good as new.

Sherlock and Mary had done little more than pass the wall a few times, desperate for a warm location to work on their case. Within moments, the door appeared, leading the pair into a comfortable room. A lovely fireplace with a roaring blaze was in the corner, along with a large table and two comfy chairs. New bunches of parchment lined the table top, as well as two quills and enough ink to last months. Finally, to Sherlock's delight, two mugs of warm butterbeer and a tray of cranberry biscuits sat at the edge of the table, ready to be eaten by the eager teens.

They quickly devoured the snacks before settling into their seats. Mary immediately grabbed a quill and began scribbling on the parchment.

"Okay. Let's go over this. What are the facts?" Mary asked, looking to Sherlock, "We need hardcore facts if we're ever going to come up with a plan."

Sherlock leaned back, pressing his hands together, letting his thumbs rest under his chin. A deep, rumbling noise escaped his chest as he considered Mary's words.

"Here is what we know. Firstly, Moriarty and Adler had some sort of plan. He approached her about it while Joh—" He cleared his throat and looked down, "As I polyjuiced as her. Then, at Slughorn's Autumn party, I saw him lurking around. Lastly, someone gave me a love potion directed at Adler."

Mary scribbled his words down. As he silenced, she set the quill on the table and sighed. "So… Everything is circumstantial."

He made a face. "That's untrue. I saw Moriarty at Slughorn's party. I heard his discussion with Adler!"

She frowned. "Did you see him take anything?"

"Well, no—"

"Did he mention you directly to Irene?"

"Well, no—"

"So, who's to say their 'hands-on' activity wasn't referring to baking a pie?"

Sherlock scowled. "Mary, really?"

She leaned back and groaned. "I'm just trying to be thorough!"

"Well, the love potion is certainly not circumstantial! Adler was giving me new doses daily."

Mary nodded. "Right. So, Adler is guilty."

"Don't forget Moriarty!"

She cleared her throat. "Sherlock, everything against him is circumstantial. For all we know, Irene just had a nasty crush on you and thought this was the way to your heart. We don't know he was involved."

He scowled against. "Don't be ridiculous! Of course he was involved!"

Mary frowned and looked to the parchment. "Can you prove it?"

That had him sputtering. "Well, no—but—he's a git! Or course he's involved! Don't you—I can't believe—"

She squeezed his shoulder. "We need concrete evidence against Moriarty. Otherwise, maybe Irene just really wanted to shag."

As much as it pained Sherlock to admit, Mary was right. He needed a lot more dirt on Moriarty if he wanted to put the entire mess together.

He cursed and shut his eyes, knowing he really could go for another warm butterbeer. Certainly that would calm his nerves.

When he opened his eyes and saw the gleaming, full glass at the end of the table, he couldn't help but chuckle.

This would be his new favorite part of the castle.

-o-o-

The following week, Sherlock had been enjoying lunch with Mary, rereading portions of the novel Molly had gifted him with so many weeks ago. Even Anderson had joined them, talking Mary's ear off, telling her exactly what Slytherin's weaknesses were. The Gryffindor and Slytherin match was coming up in a few weeks' time, and given the competition between the two houses, the match was set to be the biggest of the year.

Of course, that perturbed Sherlock ever so slightly, but at the moment, he had bigger things to worry about. Yet, his thoughts of quidditch and muggle literature were banished from his mind when Molly dropped beside him, a soft smile on her lips.

"Hiya, Sherlock. How did you do on your ancient runes exam?" She asked, before spooning a pile of potatoes onto her plate.

He gulped, thinking back to his time studying with Molly. To her delicious lemon cookies, to the scent of her strawberry hair, to her rose perfume—

He froze.

No. It couldn't be.

Was it?

Suddenly, the fourth scent from his amortentia, the unidentifiable fruity, floral smell, assaulted his body. He glanced at Molly, mouth agape.

She only smiled at him.

He felt lightheaded.

Sherlock gulped again. "I, uh, got an uh, O."

She grinned. "Me too! Our studying together paid off." She leaned over and laughed, "Perhaps better than Jim. He only got an E."

Well, that certainly boosted Sherlock's ego.

"Oh, Moriarty this, Moriarty that!" Anderson was quick to pipe in from across the table, finally taking a break from chatting with Mary to shove a piece of sausage into his mouth, "What a git! I can't wait to watch Gryffindor tear him apart!"

Molly sighed and eyed her classmate. "Phillip, he is my boyfriend. Please treat him with respect."

Anderson simply rolled his eyes. "Mary agrees, doesn't she?" He glanced over at the blonde, "She was just saying that she was going to tear him apart on the pitch."

Molly looked to Mary. The blonde simply shrugged.

"Nothing personal. I ripped Sherlock apart."

The man in question scowled. "There's always next year."

Mary laughed. "Oh, shut up you—"

Her words died in her throat, her eyes having moved from Sherlock's face to behind him. Sherlock made a face and turned around, meeting the tired gaze of John Watson.

Sherlock cleared his throat. "John."

The Gryffindor shifted on his feet. "Sherlock. Can we talk?"

The curly-haired boy looked to Mary, meeting her stony gaze. She immediately glanced away, suddenly focused on the pile of peas in front of her. Sherlock heard John's intake of breath. He turned back to face his friend.

"I suppose. What is this regarding?"

John blinked. "Sorry? I thought mates chatted—"

"Oh. We're friends? I had no idea given it's been almost a month since we talked." Sherlock cleared his throat and went back to eating, as if their conversation was the most casual thing in the world, "Not to mention, you tried to fight me."

The shorter boy cursed. "Merlin's beard, Sherlock! Can we please just chat?"

Sherlock met his gaze, knowing John well enough to tell that something was going on. The boy had quite expressive eyes. He gave him a curt nod.

John let out a terse breath. "Just send me an owl when you're free."

And then he was gone. Sherlock glanced at Mary, fully knowing he'd receive daggers, but was nonetheless taken aback by their severity. He sighed.

"Mary…"

"Don't say it." She growled, before rising to her feet, "I knew where your loyalties were."

Mary stormed off, leaving Sherlock to shake his head. Molly frowned and looked at the boy.

"I wish those two would work it out. I hate seeing them like this."

Sherlock cursed. "Me too, Molly, me too."

Apparently, Anderson wasn't one to be left out. He leaned over to the pair and grinned. "Me neither! What a fun bunch!"

The Ravenclaw boy sighed.

Oh, how he missed the beginning of the year. A snogging John and Mary, a smiling Molly, and only the thoughts of becoming head boy on his mind.

Things were rarely that simple.

-o-o-

Later that evening, Sherlock was sitting comfortably in the room of requirement. Instead of the sitting room that had appeared while he was with Mary, he had been presented with a smaller, albeit perfectly stocked potions room. He was in the middle of experimenting when he heard John enter. He looked to his best (well, he hoped, anyways) mate.

"Oh, John! Splendid. I was worried you wouldn't find me!" He stepped away from his desk and dropped his wand, "Sometimes getting the room to pop up is a bit temperamental."

John blinked. "How did you even get the room to show up? My dad used to tell stories but… I didn't think it still existed after the war."

Sherlock smiled. "Well, you know Hogwarts. It's a bit of a mystery, isn't it? Always something new to discover."

The shorter boy nodded and moved further into the room. He took a deep breath and ran a hand through his hair. He was comfortably dressed in muggle clothes, specifically a pair of blue jeans and a black jumper, one that Sherlock was almost certain Mary had gifted him the previous Christmas.

"What are you making?" John asked, approaching the desk curiously, "This is a wicked set up."

Sherlock glanced at his cauldron and sighed. "To be quite honest, I'm not sure. When I approached the room earlier, I just knew I needed somewhere to meet you and to help figure out this mess with Moriarty." He picked his wand back up and stirred the contents of the cauldron, "I'm not sure why the room gave me this."

John shoved his hands into his pockets. "Right. That's why I wanted to talk to you. Well, for a few reasons, really."

The Ravenclaw boy looked back to John. "I see. Let's chat, shall we?" Sherlock stirred the contents again and sighed, "What happened with Mary? I've heard what you supposedly said and I…" He looked away and shook his head, "Well, I refuse to believe it."

John groaned and pulled at his short locks. "Good! It's a bloody lie! I…" He cursed and rubbed at his face, still looking more tired than Sherlock had ever seen, "I don't know how any of this happened! It was that day weeks ago when I agreed to help Hagrid with the hippogriffs. You know, one was expecting, and he needed an extra set of hands to feed the babies. So, I went along." He began to pace, his hands on his hips, "Well, the next day, I wake up to Mary screaming that Greg and Sholto told her what I said! And I never said such a thing—I said scant to them that day—just a good morning before I went to Hagrid's hut!"

Sherlock frowned. "I see. So you believe Greg and James are lying?"

John frowned. "I…" he looked down and cursed, "They're supposed to be my mates! And they're good guys too. I… I can't believe that…"

"You don't think they're lying." Sherlock was quick to jump in.

The Gryffindor let out a strangled breath and shook his head. "Well, someone has to be!"

Sherlock just nodded. "Well, I believe you." He cleared his throat and glanced back at his cauldron, "For what it's worth, anyways. I never thought you'd say such a thing."

John swallowed. "That's… that's good."

"And again, Mary and I have never flirted let alone shagged. Please understand that."

John nodded. "I… I realize I may have been a bit…" He couldn't help but chuckle, although his face showed his lack of amusement, "A bit nutters, if I'm being entirely honest."

Sherlock nodded. "It's quite alright." He stepped away from the desk. "So, what's this about? Is this what you wanted to discuss?"

"Well, no. I mean, yes, I wanted to clarify that I never said those things about Mary so of course I miss her something bloody fierce and I want her back but…" John moaned in pain and pulled his hair, "I uh, I heard some stuff the other day."

The curly-haired boy raised an eyebrow. "You heard what exactly?"

John let out a terse breath. "Well, ever since the fight with Mary, I've been struggling in Potions. I agreed to some extra lessons with Slughorn—which by the way have been bloody awful—so I've been roaming the dungeons more. It's cold, and it's dark, but I've been able to contemplate this nightmare even if—"

Sherlock groaned. "Out with it John!"

John groaned and crossed his arms. "Anyways, yesterday evening, I was leaving the potions classroom when I passed the portrait to the Slytherin common room. Before I rounded the corner, Moriarty popped out. With Moran attached to his hip, per usual."

The shorter boy started to pace again. "So, maybe you wore off on me, but naturally I started following them. And…" He pulled at his hair again, "And I heard Moriarty mention Molly. And that…"

Sherlock growled. "Say it!"

John looked down. "He told Moran that he was dating Molly just to fuck with you."

Deep down, Sherlock wasn't entirely surprised by the news. Of course, it presented an interesting moral dilemma—did he want Moriarty to be with her for the right reasons, that he fancied Molly, and put Sherlock's own happiness at risk, or did he want Moriarty to be using Molly, satisfying Sherlock by his lack of interest but hurting Molly in the process?

Frankly, at close to ten in the evening, it was too much for Sherlock to process. Instead, he stood staring at John, his eyes blinking rapidly.

"He's using Molly?"

John cleared his throat and nodded. "He told Moran he wanted to shag her too. Get whatever he could."

Sherlock growled. "That fucking weasel! I knew it!"

"That's not all. I…" John rubbed at his eyes, "Well, I think…. I think maybe he has something to do with what happened with Mary."

That had Sherlock's attention. He and Mary had been looking for evidence, for something more to implicate Moriarty's shiftiness rather than just Sherlock's dislike of the boy. But this…

It made sense.

Sherlock swallowed. "Of course. It all makes sense now." He began to pace, his legs moving as quickly as the wheels in his brain, "Moriarty has been trying to tear down my entire support system! First, he takes Molly away from me. Then, he splits you and Mary up, creating tension between me and both of you!"

John nodded, for once following Sherlock's train of thought. "How'd he do it, then? You know. The things I said?"

"Simple. Polyjuice potion."

The Gryffindor cursed. "I had to be partners with Moran in Care for Magical Creatures a few weeks ago. I thought he was acting weird." He touched his hair, as if recalling that class, "But how'd he get into the common room?"

That had Sherlock snorting. "Please, John, you Gryffindors are more careless with your passwords than Anderson is with advice. Even a bloody fool like Moran would be able to get access to the common room, let alone someone as clever as Moriarty."

John nodded, defeat etched across his features. "Well, he's a bloody clever fucker, ain't he? Just about destroyed my relationship with Mary!"

Sherlock's features softened. "Mary is understanding. We'll work this out."

John looked down and frowned. "I'm not so sure. Even if I didn't say those vile things, we haven't exactly been civil in the weeks since."

"Don't worry. Mary will forgive you. But, first, we need to prove Moriarty is a troll," Sherlock stopped his pacing, his features brightening as a brilliant thought crossed his head.

John noticed the look at the same speed in which his ex-girlfriend had, only days prior. He glanced at Sherlock. "I reckon you have an idea?"

Sherlock grinned, a mischievous twitch of his lips spreading across his face. "This was not entirely me." He glanced around the room, his hands spreading as if to say 'look at this!', "The room did the thinking for us."

John blinked. "Now you've lost me."

"Don't you see John? The room gave me a potions lab!"

The Gryffindor looked at the potions set-up and back to Sherlock. "Yeah? So? What does that mean? We need to go to the dungeon? Tell Slughorn?"

Sherlock groaned and waved his wand, emptying his cauldron of the experimental elixir he had been messing around with. Instead, he mumbled under his breath and waved his wand again. A large, dusty book floated towards the table, before settling on the corner.

John looked at the title of the book. " _Moste Potente Potions_? Where'd you get this from? It looks like it belonged to bloody Merlin himself." That was John's eloquent way of referring to the frayed edges and smattering of dust.

With a flick of his wand, the pages began to turn, Sherlock studying each potion name that crossed his field of vision. "The restricted section."

John squawked. "Sherlock! How'd you smuggle this out?"

The other boy smirked. "I have ways."

"Alright, alright, enough about where the book came from. The real question is what are you doing? I hate when you speak in fucking riddles!"

"Well, thank Merlin you're not a Ravenclaw then." Sherlock stopped on a specific page and grinned, "Ah! Perfect. And not as intense as I expected."

John glanced at the dusty page. His mouth fell open. "Veritaserum?!"

Sherlock grinned, his eyes flickering in excitement, "Wonderful, isn't it?"

His shorter friend sputtered. "It's regulated by the ministry! It's illegal to use on students! We can't—are you—but what would we—"

Waving his hand, Sherlock silenced John. He cleared his throat and moved back to the cauldron. "Forget the ministry. What they don't know won't hurt them." He began to read over the ingredients, his face shifting from delight, to irritation, to back to delight as he examined the entire list.

He looked back to John. "It's simply, really. We brew the potion. We give it to Moriarty. He comes clean about his trickery with you and his vendetta against me. Molly dumps him, Mary forgives you, and I become Head Boy." He grinned and continued, "Splendid, isn't it?"

John couldn't help but let out a nervous laugh. "Right. Splendid. How long does it take to brew this? Will you even be able to get all the ingredients?"

Sherlock hummed, acknowledging his questions. "Well, it takes an entire lunar phase, so if we start tonight, about a month. Now, as for the ingredients, as you so kindly have pointed out before, the house elves here quite like my company and my enchanting stories."

John rolled his eyes. "You can't be serious."

The curly-haired boy smirked. "I most certainly am. I know at least one of them would sneak into Slughorn's supply and grab what I need."

Defeated, John joined Sherlock by the cauldron. He glanced at the book and then back to Sherlock, letting out another laugh.

"Merlin's beard, it's nice to be back," John began, studying his friend, "You may be an irritating git, but I did miss you."

Sherlock chuckled. "And I missed you."

Yes. He was happy to have his best mate back.

-o-o-

The following four weeks flew by at an extraordinary speed. As expected, Sherlock was able to get two of the most loyal house elves at Hogwarts, Gillie and Jytte, to sneak into Slughorn's supply closet and grab enough moonstone, bat blood, dragon liver, fire seed, peppermint, and unicorn hair to whip up a batch of the potion.

During the lunar phase, the Slytherin and Gryffindor match had taken place, unfortunately ending with a Slytherin win. With all the tension within the Gryffindor team—namely Greg and Sholto not trusting John and the obvious woes between Mary and John—the focus wasn't there. And considering Slytherin's unwavering devotion to beating Gryffindor, especially after their upsetting loss to Ravenclaw to start the season, the end result was unsurprising.

Of course, however, the aftermath was a disaster. Sherlock groaned and pulled his hair, regretting joining John in the Gryffindor common room after the match. Not with how Mary was taking the defeat.

"This is all your bloody fault!" She screamed at her ex-boyfriend, tossing yet another one of the throw pillows at his sweaty frame, "Had you just not been a fucking arsehole we would have won!"

John caught the pillow and groaned. "I played my hardest! If you would just stop yelling at me and listen, we could talk about—"

"I don't want to talk to you, okay? I—"

Well, John took that literally and rushed forward, pulling Mary into a frantic kiss. Surprisingly, the blonde responded, kissing him back with a vigor that had Sherlock struggling between smiling for the pair or wanting to vomit. Either way, his happiness was short-lived as Mary shoved John away.

"How dare you!" She squeaked out, her cheeks pink, "You don't just get to—"

"You said you didn't want to talk! I figured a good snog might do the trick then!"

Mary shoved him and looked to Sherlock. "I can't believe you've forgiven him, Sherlock!" She shook her head and frowned, "He's a wanker—"

Sherlock sighed and rose to his feet. "Alright. That's enough, children. I'm going to speak and you two are going to listen."

For once in his life, Sherlock's mates actually followed his directions. It brought a smile to his otherwise perturbed face. He looked to John.

"Don't be a prat, Watson. Don't kiss Mary when she's angry at you." He turned to Mary. "I have forgiven John because he has done nothing wrong, sans being my best mate. He and I have been brewing veritaserum potion for the past four weeks. It should be ready by tonight."

Mary blinked. "Sorry? You're brewing veritaserum? You do realize it's—"

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Yes, yes, I know it's illegal and monitored by the ministry. But so what! When it's completed, our first tester will be John." He looked to his best mate, "He will take it and you can ask whatever you'd like, Mary. This way he can prove his innocence."

Mary swallowed and glanced at her former boyfriend before back to Sherlock. "You can't be serious."

"I'm quite serious. John must tell the truth. Then, once he's vindicated, we'll take the batch to Moriarty and get that weasel to speak."

She pinched her nose. "You've gone nutters! This is mad!"

Sherlock grinned. "Mad but clever." He clasped his hands together, "Well, this has been lovely, but I must return to the common room. Drop by the room of requirement around half 9."

And then Sherlock was gone.

-o-o-

As he prepared to leave the Ravenclaw common room, intent on checking on his potion, he ran into Molly. She looked warm and soft, wearing a blue flannel shirt that was far too big on her small body, with her wavy strands of hair pinned to the top of her head. She smelled like strawberry.

It made his head woozy.

When she smiled, he nearly fell over.

"Are you going somewhere?" Molly asked, noticing his state of dress and the hour, "I've barely seen you this past few weeks."

Sherlock blushed and stared at her. "I've been working to help mend John and Mary's relationship. That's where I'm going now." He cleared his throat and bounced side to side, "To help them, that is. You know. Mend their relationship. Since they've broken up." He coughed and scratched his neck, "And they're my friends."

Molly giggled. Never had Sherlock ever stumbled on his words. Yet, within the past few weeks, around Molly, he was nearly always choking on his tongue. Thankfully, because she was so sweet, she did nothing but smile.

"That's very sweet of you, Sherlock. Would I be able to join maybe? Would I be of any help?"

Sherlock gulped. Molly asking to join him? Under most other circumstances, with her gorgeous smile, soft laugh, and sweet aroma, he'd be tripping over his feet to agree. But, he was also joining John and Mary to test out a potion he'd been brewing for nearly a month, a potion that mainly was being prepared to test on her boyfriend.

Somehow, Molly coming along didn't seem to be a good idea.

"Oh. I…" He brought his hands to his curls and ruffled them, mulling over the right words to say, "Perhaps next time. John and Mary are still in a delicate situation, and I fear adding another body to the mix would prove difficult."

His heart plummeted at the frown that overtook her face. But, given her nature, she was quick to camouflage her sadness, instead offering Sherlock a soft smile.

"I understand. Let me know if there's anything I can do to help you lot, okay?" He couldn't help but notice her lip quivering.

Had he made her cry? What had upset her?

"Molly—"

"Goodnight, Sherlock!" She turned on her heels and hurried past the common room, quickly jogging up the stairs that led to the girls' dorms.

He cursed. But time was of the essence.

-o-o-

When Sherlock strolled into the room of requirement, he nearly tripped on his feet upon seeing the sight that greeted him. The room generated had his miniature potions lab, his nearly completed veritaserum brewing in its cauldron. But, instead of the usual fireplace with a roaring blaze and a comfortable sitting room, he was presented with a bed. A large, extremely comfortable one at that.

Along with the interesting change were his two best mates, arguing by the potions. Given their volume, and the flush painting John's cheeks, Sherlock knew they had been at this for a while. He sighed.

"Children, please!" He moved to the lab and glared at the pair, who had stopped their screaming to look at him, "What could you lot possibly be arguing about?"

"She's accused me of requesting a bed! I thought of the same thing I always do—I need to see Sherlock to fix this mess!" John pulled at his hair and groaned, "I don't know why there's a bloody bed in here!"

Mary shook her head and crossed her arms. "Oh, what a load of shite, John! You're a horny wanker!"

Sherlock sighed and flicked his wand, mixing the Veritaserum. It was perfectly clear, meaning the substance was ready for use. He glanced over at his friends.

"The room is always equipped for the seeker's needs." Sherlock explained, moving a strand of the liquid into a vial, not looking to his friends, "And given that the room presented John with our potions set-up and a bed, tells me that it recognizes two of John's needs."

Mary scowled. "Exactly! He's a horny wanker!"

Sherlock hummed and set his wand down. "Indeed, he is. However, given our expectations for the evening—" He looked at John, a smile twitching on his lips, "Proving his innocence—" He looked to Mary, rather amused, "The room seems to believe you two need a bed. One can only assume why."

The blonde girl blushed. "But—You can't—the room can't know—"

Deciding the conversation wasn't necessary, Sherlock moved from behind the desk, holding the vial of Veritaserum between his fingers. "Hmm. Perhaps. But let's stay on schedule, shall we?" He looked at John and pointed to the foot of the bed. "Sit."

John immediately followed his directions. Reaching into the lapel of his robes, Sherlock pulled out a bottle of pumpkin juice and proceeded to dump the Veritaserum into the container. He handed it to John, studying his mate.

"Well, take a hearty sip. Then we'll start asking questions."

Mary swallowed and moved to stand beside Sherlock. She appeared nervous. "You brewed this correctly, right? It's not going to kill him, is it?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Please. I could brew this in my sleep."

"It's quite advanced—"

"And it's me, Mary." Sherlock turned to John. "Drink. We don't have all day."

John sighed and took a gulp of the sweet liquid. He licked his lips and glanced at Sherlock expectantly.

Mary gulped. "Do you feel different?"

He shrugged. "Nope. Completely normal. Well, I suppose I did feel different today. I've been pretty sad recently. Dunno why."

Sherlock glanced at Mary. "Splendid. Ask whatever you desire."

She inched closer to the bed and stared down at her ex-boyfriend. "Did you call me a low-bred cunt? Did you brag about taking my virginity to Sholto and Lestrade?"

John blinked. "No. Of course not. I would never call you that. Besides, you took my virginity too. Remember that night? Under the stars, how cold it was—"

Mary flushed and cleared her throat. "Have you ever bad mouthed me, John? Have you ever cheated on me?"

"I've never cheated on you." He coughed and looked down, "But, of course I've complained about you. That's normal in any relationship, right? I told Sherlock when we went weeks without sex after that quidditch fight. And when you wouldn't tell me what you wanted for Christmas, so I had to figure it out myself. I've called you loud. Moody. Unreasonable."

She crossed her arms and looked away. "Do you love me, John? Do you want to be with me?"

"Of course, I do!" He frowned and moved closer, grabbing her hand, "I want to marry you, Mary. I've already decided. Once we finish school, I'm going to propose. Then, hopefully we can get a place in London and have children within the next ten years."

Covering her mouth, Mary staggered back, clearly shocked by his words. "But… You can't mean that! Me, John? With my family? My mum is in Azkaban! Your family is so respected. How could you want to be with me forever?"

John scoffed and shrugged. "That doesn't matter to me. All that matters to me is you and your happiness. I love you, Mary."

Her lip quivered. "You really didn't say those things, did you?"

"No. I didn't. I was with Hagrid all day with the hippogriffs. I would never say that about you Mary, let alone think it."

She jumped forward, tackling John, forcing his body against the bed. Their lips met in a passionate fury. Sherlock groaned and turned away, moving back to the cauldron. He began to refill the vial, ignoring his mates.

He scoffed. "And you wondered what the bed was for."

-o-o-

It took Sherlock another week until he devised the perfect plan. With the assistance of John and Mary, the trio had baked the Veritaserum into a batch of Sherlock's mum's famous shortbread biscuits, making sure that each biscuit had exactly three drops within its batter, the necessary amount of serum needed for success. With the remainder of the serum, they dumped part of it into John's half empty bottle of fire whiskey, knowing it would be a fun party trick in the future. The rest was hidden in a pair of Sherlock's slippers.

Then, after bribing Harriet with ten galleons, they enlisted John's younger sister to deliver the biscuits to Moriarty. Sherlock was convinced that a pretty girl batting her eyelashes would only spur Moriarty on, not get him to question the gift.

So, that Friday evening at supper, Sherlock studied the Slytherin table carefully, only nodding along to John's babbling.

"Then Hagrid told me another Hippogriff is pregnant! What in Merlin's name are they feeding those beasts?" John ate another forkful of chicken and groaned happily, "The house elves outdid themselves today. This is brilliant."

Mary giggled and snuggled into her boyfriend, her hand grasping his hand beneath the table. "We should do something fun this weekend. If only it were warm, we could swim in the lake!"

Sherlock rolled his eyes and continued to study the table. "Please. There's work to be done."

From beside him, Molly shifted. To be honest, he had been so focused on the Slytherin table, and John and Mary's discussion, he hadn't even noticed her. He looked to her.

"Molly. When did you arrive?" He asked, before sipping his pumpkin juice, "I didn't hear you."

She frowned and began to fill her plate. "I said hello."

He blinked. "Really? I didn't hear you."

John cleared his throat. "Sherlock. The bangers are with the mash."

Leave it to John to add theatrics to the package delivery. Then again, with Molly joining them at dinner, to be secretive would be best. Sherlock nodded.

"Good. Now we wait."

Molly frowned and looked at Sherlock, before to John and Mary. "Bangers and mash? What are you talking about?"

Sherlock cleared his throat. "Inside joke. No need to worry."

Molly frowned and nodded, her eyes dropping to John and Mary's hands, "Wait… You two are back together?"

"Yes! Did we not tell you?" Mary inquired, following her words with a forkful of peas, "I could have sworn we did!"

The brunette shifted in her chair and shrugged. "No. You lot—" She stopped and shook her head. "Never mind."

Sherlock raised an eyebrow. "No. Please continue, Molly."

She shook her head and shut her eyes. "I don't want to get into it, Sherlock."

"Clearly you do since you began your statement before stopping. Don't hold back, Molly. It's unbecoming."

Molly frowned and stood up. "I just knew this would happen." She wrapped her arms around herself and looked away, "We've been getting along so well. Hanging out so much. But who was I kidding? It wasn't going to last. Only until you mended things with John and Mary."

Sherlock blinked. "That's not true, Molly. I've—"

She shook her head. "It is true, Sherlock." Glancing down, she began to play with her hands, "But it's always like this. You, John, and Mary. I'm always left out."

"Molly, that's not—"

She shook her head and took a step away. "Your best friend is John. John's girlfriend is Mary. Where have I ever fit into any of this?"

Sherlock narrowed his eyes and stood up. "You've fit in because you're my friend! You're our friend! And you're one to talk." He ruffled his hair and continued, "Ever since you've been dating Moriarty, you're rarely with us!"

Molly poked his chest. "Yes, well, you should understand what it's like having a significant other! Think about how attached at the hip you were to Irene!"

He growled. Molly had yet to be informed about Adler's stunt with the amortentia and clearly now was not the time to delve into the Slytherin's nefarious plot. Not when he was waiting on Moriarty to eat a bloody biscuit.

"We have a routine, Molly. We studied together. We ate together. As soon as he came into the picture, that all disappeared!"

She shook her head and stared at him. "Did it disappear because I spent my time with him, or did it disappear because you were being an arsehole? Every time we talked, Sherlock, all you did was insult him! You were a prat for no reason!"

His mouth fell open. "Oh, don't you dare try to—"

John's voice interrupted their bickering. "Sherlock! The mash is gone! But not with bangers."

Sherlock growled and looked at his friend. "John, what in Merlin's name are you trying to communicate?"

Mary groaned, sick of her boyfriend's riddles. "Mash has been disposed of. To first years."

Frantically, Sherlock looked to the Slytherin table, John's words ringing true. The beautiful, golden box that Mary had selected, was not sitting in front of Moriarty. Instead, it was being circled around a group of first years, the children stuffing their faces with the biscuits.

Molly followed his gaze and looked back to him. "Sherlock. What is John talking about? What is going on?"

Sherlock swallowed and looked to Molly, his voice caught in his throat. He merely shook his head.

The brunette frowned, her voice shaking. "Sherlock. You said we were friends. So why can you tell Mary and John but not me?"

"Molly, please, I'm sorry but—"

She shook her head, her eyes wet. "Don't bother, Sherlock."

He watched as she disappeared before looking frantically to John and Mary. The pair smiled sadly at him.

"What do I do?" He hissed out, before dropping into the seat, "I'm not good at this! How am I supposed to hide this from her without harming our friendship?"

Mary frowned and reached across the table. Taking his hand, she gave it a soft squeeze. "Your only option is to be honest, Sherlock. If you don't want that, you have to deal with her being upset. But… I understand where she's coming from."

He blinked. "How so?"

She laughed. "Well, you know how you get frustrated that John and I can communicate with just looks and touches? You and John are the same way! Sure, it's not the same type of looks, but you guys can communicate better than he and I can sometimes."

"I don't follow."

She groaned. "My point is, sometimes I even feel left out when you and John are together! You two get so caught up in discussion of previous adventures, and past memories, and all of that. He's my boyfriend but around you, sometimes I'm the third wheel."

Sherlock frowned. "Well, that's never our intention."

"I know it isn't, Sherlock. But even _I_ feel that way sometimes." She squeezed his hand again and smiled sadly, "So put yourself in Molly's shoes. You have John. John has me. Who does she have?"

He looked down, conscious of the way his heart was nearly beating out of his chest, "She could have me. If she wanted me."

Mary smiled sadly. "You'll have to tell her that then."

-o-o-

Approximately two hours later, Sherlock sat in his bedroom, rereading another one of the past muggle novels Molly had gifted him. He had potions homework, and a transfiguration essay, and a letter from his parents that he needed to respond to, but he couldn't get himself to do anything but sit and hold something that she had gifted him with.

Knowing that his original plan to give Moriarty the veritaserum failed, he was tasked with finding another method. He was not friends with the boy, nor anyone he hung out with, excluding Molly. This made the task infinitely more difficult and he was unsure how to distribute the serum, especially after the Harriet plan had so epically failed.

But his thoughts were disrupted by the sound of a knocking at his window. He leaned over, meeting the unnerving gaze of a beautiful, chocolate-colored owl. He swung the glass open and took the letter from the owl's foot, unfamiliar with the handwriting across the parchment.

With a quick unfold, his eyes landed on the scribbled words. Only two sentences filled the parchment. Two sentences that immediately had him on edge.

 _Dearest Sherlock: I'm not stupid and neither are you. Try to feed me an enchantment against my will and you'll be the one I'm going to kill. -JM_

"How?!" He screamed into his empty bedroom, his fists crumpling the parchment within his hands, "How could he have possibly known?!"

Moments later, Anderson entered their room, intent on sharing every bloody detail of his day with Sherlock. Unable to sit around and listen to the boy's babbling, especially after the letter he had just received, Sherlock knew he had to get out of there.

So he did, leaving the bedroom room with a loud "Piss off, Anderson," the door slamming closed behind him.

-o-o-

John was just as surprised as Sherlock was by Moriarty's letter.

"How could he have known?" Sherlock cried out again, circling John's bedroom, his hands pulling at his curls, "We were so careful! I don't understand!"

John was lounging on his bed, listening to his best mate rant. Thankfully, John's roommates—Sholto and Danny Dimmick—were both serving detention for playing a prank on a couple of Hufflepuff first years. This meant Sherlock could scream and rant as much as he'd like.

"I dunno mate. But it's fine. We'll just have to think of something else," John explained, tossing a handful of Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans into his mouth, "No need to overreact."

Sherlock growled. "No need to overreact? We brew it for a month and made an intricate plan to get him to confess and for what? He found out, John! How?"

John groaned. "Mate, I don't know."

Unsatisfied with his friend's response, Sherlock began to pace. "This is the last thing I need. I can't keep hiding things from Molly! She's angry enough at me as it is." He cursed and rubbed his eyes, "This is bloody miserable."

Reaching under his bed, John pulled out a bottle of firewhiskey. "Relax, mate. Have a drink and sit down. We'll figure this out."

Sherlock eyed the bottle with trepidation but nodded. He grabbed the bottle and took a gulp, groaning as the liquor burned his throat. "You're right. A drink will help."

John nodded and ate another handful of jelly beans. "We'll get that prat back. We just—"

After taking another pull from the drink, Sherlock gasped and set the bottle down, coughing from the alcohol. "JOHN!"

"Yes?"

Sherlock bolted up and coughed. "Was this the fire whiskey we dumped the veritaserum in?"

John blinked. "Oh…"

Growling, Sherlock set the bottle down. "You idiot!"

"You're the one that drank it!"

"Because you offered it to me!"

"Well, you're being a miserable arse, mate! I'm trying here!"

Sherlock growled and pulled at his curls. "This is unbelievable! I have no peace in my room and no peace here! Where am I supposed to go?!"

John looked at him and rolled his eyes. "You know, there's this room…"

The Ravenclaw growled. "Yes, yes, fine!"

Sherlock stormed out, muttering to himself, his mind fuzzy with the serum running through his veins. Back in his bedroom, John glanced at the bottle and shrugged, before taking a sip.

There was no reason to let firewhiskey go to waste, even if it had a bit of truth serum in it.

-o-o-

Sherlock took a deep breath, moving along the hallways as fast as his legs would let him. All he needed to do was get to the room of requirement, disappear into his lab, and either brew up an antidote, or simply relax and wait for the effects to wear off.

Mainly, he desperately wanted quiet. He wanted to stew over his defeat and figure out how to one up Moriarty. He wanted to mend his relationship with Molly. He wanted to not feel like everything was falling apart.

He managed to get to the room, the doors thankfully appearing after only three turns. He was starting to think the room liked him. It was sentient. Surely it had preferences for people, right?

Surprisingly, the room was identical to the previous time he spent there. His potions lab was in its usual place, but so too was the bed. The bed that John and Mary had gotten use out of, Sherlock quickly skipping out once his job was finished, leaving his best mates to utilize the room however they pleased.

So, he was rather surprised to see the bed still there. Perhaps the room recognized he needed a place to wait out the serum, or at least to avoid his moron roommates and Peeves. He sat on the edge of the bed and pulled at his curls, wondering how everything had gone so very wrong.

Maybe he could blame this on Mycroft. Sherlock was perfectly content to finish out his time at Hogwarts, enjoying moments with his friends and doing well in his classes. He wanted to be an Auror. He was so close to his goal.

Yet, Mycroft had to open his bloody big mouth, and put the thoughts into his head about being Head Boy. And originally, that had been his focus this year. It was why he joined the Quidditch team. It was why he tried his best to behave, no longer sneaking into the restricted section (okay, well, limiting his time there), and rarely staying out after curfew.

But now… Well, frankly, his focus was on beating Moriarty for one reason and one reason alone.

Molly.

She had been his friend since the second half of first year. She always supported him, always offering him a kind smile and a vote of confidence when all things seemed to go wrong. She was there when John and Mary had their falling out, there for him when he felt so alone.

Had he truly left her alone? Had he failed her as a friend?

Yet, before he could consider the prospect of his friendship with Molly, the doors to the room opened. He froze, scared of turning around.

Who could have found him?

"Sherlock?"

He whipped his head around, meeting the confused gaze of Molly. She was wearing her robes still, along with her prefect pin. She must have been on her rounds.

"Molly." He swallowed and stood up. "Hello."

She took a step into the room, her eyes traveling over every inch of the space. Her mouth fell open before she looked back to Sherlock.

"Sherlock, is this…" She covered her mouth, "Is this the room of requirement?"

He gulped and nodded. "Yes. It is."

"How did you find it?" She asked, her voice indicating her awe, "I thought it had been destroyed…"

Sherlock looked down, his shoulders slumping, "I'm not sure, truthfully. I just needed it one day and I was able to get it to appear."

She looked at the potions lab and back to the bed. "What are you doing in here? I was finishing my rounds and I thought I heard something and then the door appeared."

"I'm overwhelmed. Anderson was annoying me, and John was of no help. I'm frustrated by Moriarty and angry by how things went with you this evening."

Molly looked down and sighed. "Yes. I hate fighting with you. But… Sherlock, please, just tell me why you hate Jim so much."

Sherlock took a step towards her, realizing he wouldn't be able to stop the words once they reached his serum-loosened tongue, "I hate him for many reasons. He's a prat and I'm convinced he's out to ruin my career at Hogwarts. He wants to be Head Boy as much as I do and he's willing to do whatever to needs to be done to get that position over me."

He looked at her and swallowed, taking a step towards her, "But, most of all, I hate him because he's dating you. He knows what it's like to kiss you and hold you close and dammit it Molly, I hate that"

She stared at him, her brown eyes blown wide. "What… I don't understand. What do you mean it's because he's dating me?"

"You deserve so much better than him, Molly. Moriarty is using you. He doesn't care about you. Not like how I care about you!"

Her lip quivered. She couldn't resist taking another step forward. "How do you care about me, Sherlock?"

He gulped and stared at her, his heart nearly beating out of his chest. "I love you, Molly. So much. You are the light to my dark. The representation of everything that is good in this world. I love you so much and I want you to be with me. Leave Moriarty. He doesn't love you like I love you."

Her mouth dropped open. "Sherlock…" Her eyes twinkled in the dim candlelight of the room, indicating how close she was to crying, "Are you telling the truth?"

He couldn't help but chuckle considering his situation. "Yes. I love you."

And then, to his surprise, Molly stepped forward and pressed her lips to him. Suddenly, he couldn't think. He was experiencing his first kiss—well his first kiss that wasn't from being drugged by a deranged Slytherin—and he knew he was finally where he was meant to be.

The feeling of Molly's lips on his own was indescribable. Her hands moved to grasp the sides of his robe, pulling him closer to her. He responded the best that he could, moving his hands to cradle the back of her head. She smelled of rose perfume and strawberry shampoo and like everything that was bloody right in the world. She smelled like he had dosed himself in a vial of amortentia, her delicious essence the same tantalizing scents he had inhaled back in potions class.

And she was kissing him. Molly was kissing him, Sherlock Holmes, the freak of Ravenclaw, the sociopath prefect, the last person in the world that he felt deserved her attention or her affection.

He wasn't worthy of her beautiful laugh, and her soft smile, and her incredible intelligence, and her unyielding kindness, and her incomparable beauty, and her—

Molly pulled away and stared at him, her lip quivering. She ran her hands up his chest and swallowed. "Sherlock…"

But instead of letting her speak, he kissed her again. And then again. And then again. And somehow, he had fallen backwards on the bed (was that why that was there?) her soft form falling on top of him. Their robes were discarded in the process, and Sherlock's hands had somehow managed to slide up her legs, feeling the soft skin below her skirt.

He couldn't think straight. How had he gone from stewing over John's stupidity and Anderson's irritating nature to kissing Molly, experiencing the feel of her delicious lips and dangerously soft skin? How had he gone from struggling to speak around her, to grinding his erection into her lovely bum?

He was euphoric. Surely, he must have made a deal with the devil or uncovered some new form of dark magic. How else could he explain Molly pulling her top off while straddling him? How else could he explain her nimble fingers unbuttoning each one of the plastic circles aligning his top? How else could he explain the incredible way she ground her hips into his cock?

Molly pulled away, letting out a desperate breath, all while pushing his shirt off his shoulders. She quickly followed with her own, exposing her baby pink bra to his entranced gaze. She whimpered and kissed his jaw.

"Sherlock?" She whispered, grabbing his hands to move them to her chest, "Do you think I'm attractive?"

He sat, mouth agape, as she dropped her bra. She set her hands on top of his, squeezing them on top of her exposed breasts. A soft moan escaped her lips.

"Do you think about me at night?" She whispered, continuing to move her hips above him, "Do you wank while you think about me? I know you saw me in the prefect's bathroom. I wanted you to see me."

A strangled noise escaped his lips. Could he be dreaming? He had to be.

"Yes, god yes, Molly. You are the most bloody gorgeous thing I've ever seen. Your beauty distracts me." He pulled his hands away and kissed down to her chest, nuzzling his face into her soft breasts, "I think about you all the time. Every time I wank you're on my mind. You're so fucking beautiful." He licked at one of her nipples, his eyes rolling backwards, "You're fucking hypnotic, Molly Hooper."

Molly pushed him backwards and began to unbuckle his belt, a determined look across her features. She glanced at Sherlock before pulling his trousers to his hips. "Will you make love to me Sherlock? I've been saving myself." She looked down, her cheeks burning red, "I've been saving myself, hoping, begging Merlin that I would one day lose it to you."

He gulped and nodded eagerly. "Merlin, yes, Molly, I'll do whatever you want to do. I want to make love to you every bloody day for forever."

The next few moments were a blur of fabric and movement, as Sherlock was able to discard his trousers and pants, as well as help Molly pull off her skirt and knickers. By the time he was hovering over her, staring into her gorgeous, chocolate eyes, he truly couldn't breathe.

"Molly…"

"Make love to me, Sherlock."

She leaned up and kissed him softly, settling her body into the bed. Sherlock met her eyes and let out a shaky breath, overwhelmed by sensations and her beautiful face. With one final kiss, he pushed in, a strangled noise escaping his lips as they became one.

There were no words to explain the sensation. With Molly quivering below him, her legs wrapped around his body, encouraging him on, he was having an out of body experience. There was no other explanation. He began to move, his body finding a steady rhythm in and out of her tiny frame.

But, Merlin's beard, he knew he wasn't going to last long. The noises she was making, the feel of her lips on his, her beautiful body beneath him… He was never going to last forever. He pressed a frantic kiss to her lips, his hands traveling down to her hips, one finding the soft, wet expanse between her legs.

He began to rub at her nub, desperate to feel her quiver around him. She let out a squeal and tightened her legs around his body, letting out babbled noises of encouragement, her cheeks tinged in a radiant pink. He pressed another anxious kiss to her lips, his hips continuing their movements, his furious rubbing unending.

And then he felt it. He felt her quiver around her, heard her delighted squeal, saw the way her toes curled in pleasure, the way her body shook beneath him. It was all he needed to finally let himself cry out, his body spasming in the most glorious feeling he had ever encountered.

He collapsed beside her, staring at her red face, unable to breathe or to think or to fathom the incredible life event that had just happened to him, Sherlock Holmes, the boy who was known for reading too much and arguing with his brother.

Molly simply smiled and leaned over, pressing a kiss to his lips.

-o-o-

The next morning, he sat at the Ravenclaw table at breakfast, in a daze with a smile across his lips. He barely slept from the excitement, leading him to arriving before most of the school in the Great Hall. He sat virtually alone, enjoying the first of the food.

The Veritaserum had worn off, but the memories had not. The previous evening, Molly and he laid in the bed in the room of requirement, just whispering about the most asinine things. Muggle literature, John's penchant for candy, Molly's brother's muggle job…

And then, when it finally came for them to depart, they journeyed back to the Ravenclaw tower together, sharing a passionate kiss in their common room before heading back to their respective rooms. While he had whispered a soft 'I love you' before she disappeared, she simply smiled softly before moving to her room.

That was perfectly fine for Sherlock. He still couldn't believe the previous evening. Sure, the initial drink of veritaserum had put him on edge, concerning him that something would go very wrong. And when Molly had found the room of requirement, his feelings only intensified. Yet, with the serum running through his blood, it forced him to admit his true feelings. Feelings that he hadn't admitted to himself, let alone her.

And now, she knew. She knew how deeply he cared for her. And she must have shared his feelings, if their passionate night of love making had been any indication. Now, he simply had to wait for her to kick Moriarty to the side, and then they could be together.

He loved her.

It was incredible.

However, at the sight of a chocolate owl flying towards him, he felt his stomach sink. Another piece of parchment dropped onto his plate of toast. Scrambling to grab it, he quickly ripped it open, his eyes scanning the words.

 _Dearest Sherlock: Playing with potions only leads to trouble. You'll learn that rather quickly. -JM_

He dropped the parchment, his hands shaking. What in Merlin's name could Moriarty mean?

And then he heard her voice. The thickness in her throat. The evidence of her tears.

"Sherlock."

He turned around, meeting her sad, brown eyes. He swallowed. "Molly? What's wrong?"

"It's true, isn't it?" She sobbed out, her body shaking, "Irene gave you amortentia. She drugged you."

Sherlock swallowed and nodded. "Well, yes, but I didn't think it was—"

Molly shoved him and let out a cry. "Not a big deal?! I… I believed you! I thought what you said was true!"

He blinked. "Wait, Molly, do you think—"

She let out another cry and moved away from him. "Stay away from me! I know it isn't your fault but I can't… I can't be around you right now. Serves me right, ever thinking you could love me!"

He jumped up and moved towards her. "Molly, please, that's not—"

"Or were you involved with this?" She asked, tears pouring down her cheeks, "Did you enlist Irene? Was this your way to piss off Jim to give you an edge? The only way you could get yourself to touch me?"

His mouth fell open. "Molly…"

She shook her head and ran off.

Sherlock glanced at the parchment on the table. He grabbed it and crushed the paper within his shaking hands.

The game was nearing the final round.

Moriarty would not win.

Not if he had anything to do with it.

 _ **To be continued…**_


End file.
